Borrowed Love Story
by skyoflemon
Summary: This is an intriguing love story for me that Louis L'Amour gave a teasing glimpse at in his short story 'One for the Pot'. It is a lead up and a little of what I imagined followed the exciting events in his tale. A young girl finds herself in an unfamiliar country, the mail-order bride of a man she's never met.
1. Chapter 1

**D** **isclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. All original characters and plot are the property of the author. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **My grandma was a huge Louis L'amour fan and I inherited her VAST collection and just fell in love with the guy! I only just found this fandom on fanfiction and look forward to reading the listings here. I wanted to contribute also so this is an expansion around L'amour's short story called 'One for the pot' that I found super intriguing and couldn't help but imagine up history for the amazing characters. I wrote this some time ago and there's mistakes in it. I won't plead for mercy for my technical mistakes cause I really should know better by now.**

 **I did change the couple's names in this from Steve and Laurie, hope that's ok. It's finished all the way to the end!**

 **Northrop Cassidy "Cas" = Steve**

 **Faith Whitfield = Laurie**

* * *

The bloom of white steam rose up from the steamer blocking the view from window of the train the girl had been looking out of. Now she could only see her faint reflection. A small, heart shaped face with more angular eyes than round. Her dark eyebrows were low, straight and full, always making her look pensive. Her lips had been compared to a goldfish's before and so she was now very self conscious of them. But the face looking back at her's was smooth and assured, the glass did not reflect the anxiety that roared behind her eyes.

Other passengers were up and mulling around, gathering their things and making their way off the car.

Faith Whitfield felt paralyzed. Her small, dainty hands clutched at her valse, knuckles white. The steam floated by, thinning so that she could see the platform again at Henryville. Her eyes darted from one person to the next as they walked by, searching. Some folks were meeting those who had just arrived and others moving different cargo they had been waiting to ship or receive.

She saw a horse being led around the side of the platform, it walked unsurely as it must have been shipped out here on the train. It was a beautiful animal but stumbled on the now solid ground having traveled so far on the rocking freight car. She felt a connection with that horse. Perhaps taken from its familiar home and sent to a land so lonely and different, alone among strangers.

A tingle started in her dark blue eyes and she closed them against the threatening tears. She felt truly alone.

"Excuse me Miss."

The voice startled her and she turned sharply to the conductor. An older man with hooded eyes and a round face framed by a white beard.

"This here's the end of the line. Can I help you deboard?" He asked with a curious look in his eyes.

"Um…" She was so anxious, her voice caught in her throat.

The man considered her, "You meeting your folks or something child?"

Child. She was 17 but she knew she could pass as younger, perhaps even 15 or so. She was often taken for a child. Her clothing did not help. It was a child's dress with a higher hem that showed her black, scuffed boots and a bit of her dark brown stockings. Her coat was her father's, large and frumpy on her, coming far down over her hands. Faith had insisted upon having it with her.

There was no one else in the car now but the two of them.

"Come on then Miss…?"

"Whitfield." She supplied hollowly and forced herself to stand up.

Taking one last look at the emptying platform through the window she followed the man down the aisle and to the steps that led down from the passenger car. The old conductor took her arm as she stepped off. The town of Henryville sat in the flat of the prairie. There could have been a dozen buildings she could see beyond the station. Beyond that, the endless rolling of grass then hazing blue-purple mountains far in the distance, fringing the sky.

That was it. There was nowhere to hide anymore and her eyes darted from one man to the next. _He_ would be here somewhere. The one she was to meet. She had never seen him before and only been given the vaguest of descriptions.

"Miss if you're waiting for someone you could have a seat right on that bench there out of the sun. It can get mighty hot and you with that coat…" Said the old man. He was cut off by another railroad worker who was calling to him.

"Pardon me miss…" he said and walked away.

Faith didn't want to sit. She wanted to run. Get back on the train or even run into the vast expanse of the land that opened up in front of her. She was from Philadelphia and used to the cozy crowd of people and buildings. Here she felt exposed and solitary.

For a few minutes she just stood there, the sun indeed sweltering even though it was still spring. She wore a small brimmed straw hat with a wide, faded blue ribbon banding it. Her long hair was pulled away from her face and knotted in the back. But much of it was left to spill down her back to her waist as was the fashion in the city. It had streaks of white-blond, honey and even brown were the sun hadn't reached and fell in natural waves and ringlets at the ends.

Perhaps he wouldn't come. She didn't know if that terrified her more than facing him.

She looked down the platform again and the old conductor was walking towards her but was first intercepted by a tall frame of a man with his back to her. The old man shrugged and shook his head but then looked straight at Faith. Then he spoke and pointed in her direction and the tall man turned to look at her.

He had to be over 6 feet tall and broad shouldered under his old white shirt which was worn with a faded vest. Narrow at the waist and hips he wore buckskin trousers, a line of fringe down the sides stuffed into well abused work boots. His face was shaded by a broad brimmed, dusty black hat. He had light brown hair, a bit shaggy and flipping out over his ears. His sober face was actually roughly comely with a new beard that was more neat than scruffy. The man looked at her for a moment then went back to the conductor who shook his head at whatever was being said to him.

Faith's heart was pounding, eyes riveted to the two men. The tall man turned back to her again and started towards her slowly.

Gripping her bag more tightly all she could do was bow her head and stare at the greying wood of the platform under her feet, wishing the ground would swallow her up.

The work boots came into her view and stopped a few feet away. After a moment she tipped her head up slightly, her eyes following the line of the man's body up to his face. Tanned and dusty, she could see he was a man accustomed to a strenuous life. But his eyes were a warm brown, gentle and honest looking.

There was a new jolt in her. It wasn't fear, but perhaps nervous anticipation.

Hesitantly he finally spoke, "Miss Whitfield?" he asked as if he were unconvinced, his voice rich and even.

Nodding she found her own voice and remembered her manners. "How do you do?"

He looked thoughtful at her response. She could tell he was sizing her up and not coming out with much. Then his eyebrows lifted a bit as if he were relaxing. His large shoulders sloped and he took his hat off, his posture relaxed as he sat his weight all on one leg.

"Fine thank you miss. I'm...I'm Northrop Cassidy. I'm the one what...sent for you." He told her quietly.

"Yes sir. Thank you." Was all she could think of.

He averted his eyes for a moment then put his hat back on, "Could I take your bag? Do you have all your things?"

Faith had almost forgotten about her valse. "Oh yes. I don't have much. This is everything."

She heard a throaty chuckle and looked to see the conductor smiling at them as he was getting back on the train. "She said it!" He said.

They both frowned at the man but Cassidy reached for her bag which she held to for a moment before she let him take it. For a man as tall as he, his hands were not burly but rangy with long fingers. In height she barely stood to his chest.

"I brought the wagon, thought you might have more belongings. We'd better get going, it's a fair piece back to Box Junction from here." He turned and started to walk back down the platform a few feet then stopped when he didn't hear her follow.

He was disappointed. Faith could almost feel it. Compared to these never endingly large plains she was nothing indeed. Women out here needed to be robust and sturdy. She didn't know if she was either. Back in Philadelphia she excelled in her studies, her love for reading prominent in her life. Around the house she did some things but there had always had servants, her father having been profitable in his practice of law in the city. But what could she do here?

"Miss?" Cassidy called to her without certainty.

This was her new life. He was, and it was like walking into a dark room, not knowing what was in there; be it objects to trip over or a fierce beast waiting to spring on her. But she started after him timidly.

At a buckboard that sat in front of the station, Cassidy put her bag in the bed and turned to her, eyeing her coat. She must look silly indeed keeping it wrapped around her. It felt like it was keeping her father with her a bit, and hiding her weakness and frailty.

He put his hands out to her slowly to help her up and she walked into them. He lifted her with ease up to the seat and went to the other side, climbing up to sit beside her.

He settled, the reins in hand but did not urge the horses yet. Awkwardly Faith looked up to him and he was looking back at her with subtle worry.

"Pardon for asking miss, but how old are you?"

"I'm 17, I know I seem younger, but I'll turn 18 the first of July." She felt scrutinized.

"They told me you was 18." Cassidy said slowly slouching forward to rest his arms on his knees.

"I will be."

He touched his tongue to his lips and sighed, "I'll pay your way back home Miss Whitfield if you have any notion this ain't what you's figur'n on."

Perhaps she was not what he had figured on and the rejection hurt her badly. But Faith was unwilling to let him see it and took in her breath, "I don't have a home anymore Mr. Cassidy. If you have no complaint, I'd like to stay here." Faith faced forward and didn't meet his eyes.

There was quiet, then the long length of rein slapped the rumps of the team and Northrop called out to them, "Hup."

It had been late morning when the train had pulled in and now they were rolling over the prairie towards those deceptively small-looking mountains that seemed too far to ever reach. Only the jingle of the harness, creaking of the wagon frame and the sounds of the horses broke the quiet of the ride.

Faith was tired and too many thoughts crowded her mind. Whatever she had left behind in Philadelphia was a thing of the past now and her present something she had been compelled into accepting. But now she had been given that chance to choose and here she still was. She had not known many men, especially with the intent of marriage but there was something that struck her about this stranger who would soon be her husband. She could not describe it but it gave her unexpected hope.

"Not a lot of womenfolk around Box Junction." His voice broke into her thoughts.

She looked over at him questioningly.

Northrop looked at her sidelong, "The closest town to my spread. There's not a lot of women about. Most women like to be in Henryville where it's not so off-lay'n."

Faith nodded.

"My place is up in the uplands. So's I don't get to town much, maybe every month to two." He continued.

"What do you grow?" Faith asked with honest curiosity.

He paused to look at her, "Cattle."

"Oh." She blushed feeling silly.

For the first time there was a hint of a smile on his face and he asked, "So you wanted to come west?"

At this question Faith blinked in surprise, "I had never considered it. I was born in Philadelphia and lived there my whole life. My father had been ill for sometime before he died and it took our estate. My step mother decided it would be in the best interest of everyone involved if I...married and so she arranged it."

Now Northrop looked forward with some concern, "They didn't ask you? I mean, I reckoned they'd at least ask you."

She didn't reply but her silence confirmed her lack of being consulted and he looked troubled.

"My brother's wife knew a woman that knew your stepmother...I think. I don't think I was ever sure on the relations of it all. But it's beautiful country up there miss. I think you'll take to it." He said in a gentle way.

She pushed her own cheeks into a small smile and he directed himself forward again.

"We'll have to stop in town for the night, it'll be too dark to go up the pass tonight, we'll go see the justice of the peace and….uh get married while we're there." he informed her as smoothly as could be expected.

The journey took most of the day and early evening when they rolled into the five-building 'town' of Box Junction. There was a blacksmith's with an attached livery, a saloon called the Copper Loop, a general store and law office. A few houses and shacks were at either end of the street. There were men out on the dirt walks and road that turned their heads as they drove by and parked in front of the general store.

Northrop frowned as the sign said it was closed for the night. "Joseph should still be open, I'll knock." He hopped off the wagon and came around to her side making as if to help her down.

"Maybe I'll stay here." She said shyly.

He stood for a moment there then nodded, "Suit yourself."

Then he went and knocked on the door, soon a balding, skinny man came to open it and Northrop stepped inside. The man who must be Joseph halted for a moment when he saw her then nodded to her pleasantly and went back inside after Northrop.

There was the sound of the horses blowing and a dog barking and Faith scanned the small town in the dimming light. It sat amongst the foothills of the towering mountains behind it. Cottonwoods and scrub oak grew here where the water drained from the streams and rivers of the heights. Northrop was right, she did not see one woman along the streets.

"Howdy." A heavy voice brought her head around and she looked down at another large man who had suddenly appeared standing next to her on the ground. He leaned against the wagon, very near her feet and she shifted over in the seat away from him.

But she gave him a polite nod.

He looked to be about Northrop's age which she would have guessed to be early to mid twenties. He wore his hat tilted to the side and he had a wide jawed face that seemed even wider with the grin that spread it. His hair was dark and curly and his face shaven smooth.

"Thought this was Cas' rig here, wanted to come say hi but you ain't Cas." He green eyes teased.

Faith caught sight of his gunbelt and she felt even more uneasy but she responded calmly.

"It is Mr. Cassidy's wagon sir."

The man's eyes flickered over her and he took out the fixings of a cigarette but said, "What you doing riding around with him? You his kid sister or something?"

Faith suddenly wished Northrop were back. "No." Was all she said.

Lighting the thin smoke he drew on it, making the end glow, "Well miss, you ever need anything you just come see me, Rett Miller, and I'd be obliged to help ya…."

"Seems you tend to help yourself to most anything you want." Sounded Northrop's controlled and level voice as he came out the store door. He held a large wooden box in hand filled with supplies.

The grin on Miller's face changed from flirty to a mischievous one and he turned to Cassidy who was setting the box down in the wagon.

"'Evening Cas. They told me you was going after a woman in Henryville. They all out of full grown ones? What's the baby girl for?" Rett prodded, his cigarette hanging from his lips loosely.

"You just keep to your business and I'll keep to mine." replied Cassidy shortly.

Rett chuckled, "Heh, you sure are up tight Cassidy you know it? These eastern women size in mighty small huh?" he glanced back up at her, "What's your name honey?"

Flushing at the man's forward behavior Faith just looked ahead but Northrop walked up to Miller who was only inch or two taller than he and looked to him boldly, warning hardening his eyes.

"You can respectfully call her Mrs. Cassidy. If you ever forget the name or the respectful part you can bet I'll remind you."

The playful grin fell from Miller's face and he glared back at Cassidy. "Don't bother with that new barn Cassidy, won't need it when I buy ya out."

"Ain't selling."

Stepping backward Miller's voice was ice, "You'll sell."

He turned and started walking across the street towards the saloon, "Be sure to tie her down to a nice heavy rock or something, she looks like she'd blow away in a stiff wind." He called back over his shoulder.

Northrop's face was rigid as he climbed back up into the wagon and he watched the man disappear into the saloon. "That's Everett Miller. There's five of 'em. Best you keep shy."

The slight girl nodded her understanding but cast a glance at him.

 _Mrs. Cassidy._

They pulled out of the town and followed a well packed trail with prairie grass growing up the middle. Soon they came upon a decent sized house among a grove of cottonwoods in a large hollow where deep shadows now gathered.

Throwing the break forward Northrop hopped down again and came round to Faith holding his arms up. Hesitantly she leaned into them and he lifted her down, her hands on his wide shoulders. She caught an unfamiliar scent, similar to fresh rain and wondered what it was.

They walked up to the door of the house and he knocked. Immediately an older man, not completely grey yet but with touches at his temples opened the door. His clothing of broad cloth was more fine than Cassidy's and he held reading glasses in his fingers. His blue eyes went from Cassidy to Faith who shivered in her coat.

The sun was going down and in this arid country, the temperature dropped easily.

"Cas. Didn't think you'd make it in tonight." The man said casually.

"Yes sir." Said Northrop who took off his hat, "Miss Whitfield, this is Judge Graham. He's the justice of the peace."

For the second time the man assessed her with wise eyes.

With a dip of her head she greeted him, "Sir it's nice to meet you."

"And you." He returned, "Won't you come in? Sit, I have some tea on."

He waved her into the room which, although it was not as finely furnished as some in Philadelphia, had carpets, drapes and some covered furniture.

"I'll see to the team." Northrop backed back out the door.

Graham motioned her to a chair which she politely took and he brought her a china cup of hot tea.

"So you're from back east hmmm? I was born in Delaware before moving out here after I had gained my degree some fifteen years ago. Tell me how it looks now?"

Keeping the warm cup in her hands, the overflowing coat sleeves slid back down her arms a bit. Faith described her city along the Delaware and Schuylkill rivers. The cobblestone streets and the towering pinnacles of the buildings, some even four stories tall.

The judge leaned forward, sometimes staring at the floor as if imagining it.

"Mighty different here ma'am." He finally said to her just as Northrop came back inside. The lamps had been lit and Graham started to get up, "You want some tea Cas?"

Cassidy looked weary but nodded.

"I'll fetch it sir." Faith got up quickly and went into the adjoining room. Northrop watched her, rubbing his hands on his trousers nervously.

With some salt the judge said to him lowly, "It's going to be a change for you."

Northrop nodded in agreement.

Faith came back with his cup and he took it from her.

"So are you figuring on getting married tonight or waiting until the morning?" Asked Graham.

With a quick glance at Faith, Northrop said decidedly, "Tonight Cecil. Got to get an early start. Stock's been left alone for three days."

Faith looked away, feeling the burning in her cheeks.

"Very well. Can I speak with you a moment Cas?" The man got up and went out onto the porch followed by Cassidy.

After the door was closed the older man put his hands on his hips tentatively, "Cas, I don't know. She's barely out of the foaling stall..."

"She'll be 18 in two months sir. You was married to Laurie when she was 16." Cassidy spoke mildly.

"17 huh? I wouldn't have thought you'd go younger. But look at her, she's just a mite! You're gonna need a stable woman who can rough it with you up in them mountains son. She's from the city you know and it's a different world. Instincts are different." Graham tried to rationalize with him.

Taking his hat off Northrop put a hand to the back of his head, rubbing at the hair there. "Gave her the choice to go back. She wants to stay."

The shadows dimmed their features and the elder man paused, letting out a soft scoff, "You want to marry her?"

There was silence for a moment and the yellow light of the oil lamp through the window shown off of Cassidy's solemn face, "Yes sir."

"Alright then. Don't just marry her for the sight of her boy. But I have to admit, she's a lovely one. Hope you know what you're doing Northrop. There's a storm coming, you know that." Graham suddenly looked even more worried but opened the door again, "I'll get my book."

Reaching into some packs that he had left on the porch, Cassidy took out two items and went back inside himself.

The girl was in the kitchen drying off their cups, still wearing the large coat. She had taken off her hat and he could see her long hair spreading over her shoulders.

He moved over to her, noticing her stiffen at hearing his approach.

Clearing his throat he said, "Miss, I got you a weddin' present."

She turned her slender neck to look up at him and he held out a folded, white linen shawl with embroidered flowers curling around it's edge. Sitting on top of it was a shell hair comb.

Faith's eyes widened a bit as she stared at them. He waited and watched her. She hadn't anything special she was going to wear. Just the clothes on her back.

At her hesitation his confidence caught, "I hope you like them. I growed up with 5 brothers Miss. I ain't sure what womenfolk like."

Looking up at him through thick eyelashes she smiled faintly, "They're beautiful. Thank you Mr. Cassidy."

She went to take them and he said, "Can I help you take your coat off?"

Her arms crossed in front of the coat reflexively and her smile dropped. For a moment she thought to tell him she would rather wear it but then she relented and unbuttoned it as he sat the shawl and comb on a chair behind him. Faith slid the warm wool off of her shoulders as Northrop reached for it. She refolded her arms in front of her guardedly. She was thin, she knew it. The dress she wore was plain and had no frills or lavishments to hide her.

Northrop Cassidy said nothing but took her coat to the other room as the judge was just returning. For a brief moment Faith looked at the two presents her soon to be husband had given her. She almost wished for her coat back but rolled her shoulders and reached for the comb, settling it into the hair at her crown that had been pulled away from her face and pinned into a bun. Then she wrapped herself in the new linen shawl. It felt stiff.

Then she walked in where the men stood waiting.

"And your full name my dear is Fran Whitfield?" asked the judge, starting to fill out a certificate.

Her face must have scrunched at it and the men noticed but she quickly corrected them, "No. My full name is _Faith_ Lillian Whitfield."

The men looked at each other and Northrop almost coughed, "Begg'n your pardon. In the letter I got, it was Fran I thought."

She just brushed it off with a gracious smile and they began the wedding. The weight of what was happening made Faith light headed but she stood as tall as she could. She even looked at Northrop the whole time without glancing away. This would be her will and not others. He looked back at her, studying her sudden confidence. The corners of his lips uplifted slightly. He took out a ring when prompted, a golden band and slid it on her finger. It hung loosely.

"I now pronounce you man and wife." The judge finished closing his book. He looked from one to the other and said, "Congratulations."

Faith Cassidy. Such a change as a name and she didn't feel any different. He still held her hand, looking down at it. His were calloused with work but they still held hers gently, making them look even smaller. The ring was too big and would slip off, so Faith removed it trying to think of where she could keep it safe. Reaching into his pocket Northrop brought out a thin lace of rawhide and said, "Here let me see."

He strung the ring onto it and then tied the ends, then he placed it around her neck. There was a draw of reassurance in his face.

They had a quick meal and then the judge said, "Well if you're leaving early I'll show you your room."

Faith was instantly nervous again but followed him to a door on the opposite side of the kitchen. The room was small but had a single bed, washstand and chair in the corner. The man left them, bidding them good night.

Northrop had gotten her valse and coat and came in behind her, setting the things down on the bed.

"Faith." He said for the first time besides in the ceremony, as if trying it out. "Ain't a likely name."

"It was my mother's choice. You don't like it?" She decided to ask, remembering the name 'Fran' which left a poor taste in her mouth.

The tall man looked humbled, "It's a fine name ma'am."

"And am I to call you Northrop?"

As if considering it for the first time he rubbed at the back of his neck and shifted his weight to one leg as seemed his habit, "Some folks call me Cas, but I reckon you can call me what suits you ma'am. Do you need anything else?"

She shook her head.

He nodded and started to back out the door.

"I'll sleep out here. If you need anything let me know." He closed the door.

She stood surprised, and slightly relieved.


	2. Chapter 2

**D** **isclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. All original characters and plot are the property of the author. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

They did start early the next day and they left the wagon and team there at the judge's house. Northrop had saddled up a bay and a seal brown, leading them out of the barn.

Faith looked apprehensively at them as he tied her bag to the saddle of the seal.

"Don't much use the wagon in the uplands. Always ride horseback usually. Fastest trail home is too narrow and rough for a wagon." He told her. "Seal's yours 'n you can name her whatever you want."

He stood there expectantly and she came over but looked at a loss. Clumsily she put her foot to the stirrup and pulled herself up and tried to situate herself sidesaddle with obvious ignorance.

He suddenly realized, "You ever ride?"

She shook her head and he looked as if in shock, maybe a bit balked. "You'll have to learn to ride out here Ma'am. Ain't much to it, should come pretty natural."

Faith felt ashamed. She had been on a horse perhaps twice in her life as there was no real call for riding in the city and it had never been of a particular interest to her. Now it was just another tali against her that she'd have to learn along with who knew what else.

Watching Northrop she tried to mimic his way with his saddle horse Rush as they went up a narrow pass into the heights of the mountains. Many times Northrop had to take the bridle to lead the mare through creeks that ran through their path or if the horse would have a mind to stop and eat.

They continued to climb, the valley falling behind them. The air was cooler and the vegetation green compared to the tawny prairie below. As they went, Northrop pointed out the land. The ranges of other cattlemen and where theirs started. Where others kept their ranges to the benches and the streams that came out of the mountains, Cassidy's lay in the lofty meadows above. He explained the feed was good here, the water source always reliable.

"I've got two thousand head right now. Sold a good part of my herd last year and made some money, so's I could bring you here." He ended with reserve.

"And you tend them by yourself?" She asked.

"Yes ma'am. Used to have a hand but he's gone now. Now it's just me...well us isn't it?" He said thoughtfully.

She felt a warmth in her chest. ' _Us'_.

"North."

His face turned back to her, an eyebrow up, "Pardon?"

Faith's eyes flickered from him to the ring that now hung down her chest, "May I call you North?"

Pausing only a thoughtful moment he nodded, "Haven't been called that for a spell. Only family mostly. Reckon you are family."

It had been a while since she had been called family.

A few hours later, mid afternoon they came upon a richly green meadow with a little cabin near the pine tree line and a brook nearby. The makings of a barn were all but up and they pulled into the yard. A large dog ran up to them excitedly but started to bark at Faith when it saw her. It looked like a wolf to her with its long snout and pointed ears. The brown fur was thick and bushy about its neck and tail and it had a black dorsal marking that ran down its back. North nodded saying it was half wolf and his name was Lobo.

Apprehensively she reached out to the dog and it sniffed at her then backed up, a low growl behind the white teeth he bore.

North assured her, given time the dog would become accustomed to her.

She took her valse while North took her horse into the barn and stabled it showing her how to store her tack and how to rub the horse down to cool it.

The smell of the barn was a mix of grains, leathers, and the musky scent from the horses. Faith actually found it pleasant.

Following North, they went to the little cabin. It had a small porch with an old chair that sat by the door.

The cabin had two rooms. A larger one with the modest kitchen and fireplace in it. A nicely carved table sat in the middle with two chairs. One seemed used and worn the other brand new as if just made. The other room was the bedroom with a finely carved bed and a trunk at its foot and wash stand in the corner.

There were few personalizations or decorations. Besides a mantle clock and plain sack cloth for curtains, there was just what was needed and it was neat and tidy. It seemed he had lived here by himself a while.

Faith asked North about where she should keep her things and he offered the trunk. He could move his own things under the bed if she needed more space but she reminded him she only had what fit in her valse.

The short tour over, he watched her for a moment as she opened her valse on the bed, "Now I gotta go check the stock. They've been on their own for days. Might take me a time to gather 'em. I bet they've drifted. Might be back late for dinner. I'll bring some beef if'n I get a chance."

And he started outside again.

He brought a rifle out from under the wagon seat, sliding it in a sleeve on the saddle then pulled himself up onto the bay gelding.

Faith looked about herself as she had followed him out into the yard but took a step towards him subconsciously, "What should I do?"

He pulled himself up into the leather and looked at her, his face straight, "Jest settle in I reckon. There's things to be done around. I'll be back direct."

Then he swung the horse around, trotting off into the trees.

He had just left her without instructions besides dinner. What did women do out here in the wilderness? She went over to the cupboards and looked through them. There was flour, cornmeal, salt, beans, baking soda, coffee, sugar, yeast and some other cooking necessities. They had brought home a side of bacon but he mentioned something about it being for breakfast. Bread, she knew how to bake bread so she started to get it mixing. There was a fine stove set in the corner and she got the fire going. She had brought along an apron which looped over her arms and covered her upper body as well as her skirts.

As soon as the dough was left to rest she stepped outside. The air was fresh and almost sweet, like cool water to her lungs. There were higher peaks still around this valley and some hatted with white snow. The meadow around her was full of wildflowers. The yard was dirt with a well not far off. Faith wondered why there would be a well if there was a brook nearby. So many questions piling up and she felt ignorant and embarrassed to ask North. She would give it a few days, hoping to figure most of it out on her own. Her tutors had always said she was bright, ingenuitive and learned quickly. It was disheartening realizing that everything she had studied and learned most of her life was useless now.

The dog watched her warily, growling when she passed. Back behind the house was a weed infested garden or what had been a garden at some point. She knew some about gardening and decided that would be a project of hers.

Soon she went back inside and decided to give the place a deep clean. She swept the floors and cleaned the windows. She found the floor scrubbing brush and a bucket and got to her knees. The light outside faded and she started a fire in the fireplace. Keeping her ears tuned to the outside she kept listening for the sound of hoofsteps in the yard outside. It was strange not having the constant hammer of people and carriages passing by on a street.

The bread came out of the oven late and not as well formed as she had hoped. Perhaps it had something to do with the thin, dry air and she would have to adjust. The coffee, she had never been keen on it herself and had never seemed to get the knack of it. It was always bland and bitter. Or too strong or too thin.

All of the things she knew that she should know and didn't were overwhelming and more than once she felt like crying. What frightened her even more were the things she was completely oblivious to. Admitting that she hadn't much experience in riding a horse seemed to have really shocked Cassidy. Maybe more of it was the sudden change in her life. Her father's death, he had been all she had. The one she loved the most and who loved her. Her step mother had always been civil to her, even kind. But after her father's death she became even more distant and only affable as one would a new acquaintance.

To distract herself, Faith had gone to unpack her valse which contained another pair of stockings, a brush and some other personal items and five books. There was no where to put them but in the trunk and when she opened it. Inside was a well used but well kept woodworking toolkit, a razor, a stack of what looked like legal papers and a photo of a group of young men and boys. There was an old bible and a some of North's extra clothes. A pair of newer trousers and a faded navy color shirt. There was a large tear at the breast pocket of the shirt. Faith took the shirt up and decided to mend it. She looked about the house for a sewing kit. In drawers of the kitchen pantry and then she saw a little box on top of the cupboard which she was too short to reach and so she dragged a chair over. Standing on it she reached for the box but her hand felt the cold, double rounded metal of a gun barrel. She lifted it up to see a shot gun stowed there then set it back down. In the box there was indeed a needle and spool of white thread. There were no scissors but she just cut it with a knife from the kitchen and settled down in front of the fire to mend the shirt.

Not long after she heard the sound of hooves and she hurried to finish the repairwork on the shirt, biting off the string and tying it. It was a decent job done. She pushed the needle into the material and sat the shirt on the table as she got up to go to the door.

A chorus of crickets and cicada were singing in the night air and Faith waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark. She thought she could see North moving around in the unfinished barn then he came out and started towards the house. But the tall man stopped about half way, his arms limp at his sides and a reflective look in his tired eyes as he took in the house then her.

Faith felt like she should say something, "You're home."

The tight frown he had been wearing softened and bowed into a modest smile.

"Long day." He commented unspecifically but there was an undertone of anxiety she thought. "I'll wash up in the creek." He turned off into the dark.

Nodding she went back inside to set out their meal on the table, if you could call it that. She put out the tolerable bread, sliced. Then a small pot of beans which she thought she must have cooked a little too long because they had started to cream up. Beans were not a commonly eaten food in her previous home and she knew nothing of their preparation.

He had not brought beef, or hadn't said he had so she wondered if she should use the bacon.

He came in not long after, his hair still a little wet but his face and hands clean. He came over to the table and sat down in a slump, as if drained. His eyes went over the set table and then he looked up at her as she stood fidgeting on opposite side from him.

"I didn't get a chance to slaughter some beef. I'm sorry." He said then looked over in the kitchen. "Is there any coffee?"

Faith swallowed at the dread in her throat, "Um yes, well, I think it's just getting hot. I'll check."

She went over to the stove and picked up the pot with a folded cloth. It was horrible coffee and she knew it but what could she do? Bringing it back over to the table she swirled at it desperately then poured it into his cup. At least it was steaming.

"How is the herd?" She asked.

He was watching the off colored coffee fill the cup. It was a lighter brown than it should have been and large granules washed out with it, "What? Oh, fine. Well I reckon I'm missing nigh 58 head."

In brave curiousity North lifted the cup to his lips and drank. Sinking into her seat Faith watched him as his face flinched as if bitten and he stared down into the cup.

Then he looked back up at her, "It's...mighty warm."

Faith knew that he was reaching to be polite.

"So the cows...cattle, they're lost? It must be hard to find them as they roam free." She tried not to sound too ignorant but she must learn and who else was there to tell her but him?

North was dipping a spoon into the beans and sniffed at it when he put it on his plate.

"S'posible but unlikely so many in just a few days." He stopped, not making any conclusions he may have known to her.

She quickly handed him a piece of bread, hoping that it would be her saving grace. "I didn't have any butter but it's just out of the oven not an hour ago."

His face was still serious but he took the slice, "Haven't had bread in a spell, biscuits a couple weeks ago. Butter you can make, I got a milk cow. She's at a neighbor's. I'll fetch her tomorrow. Needs milk'n every morning. But out in the woods, there's thimbleberries and they make a good mash for bread."

After she had cleared up dinner, North sat in his chair at the fire when Faith went to bed. She lay there a while, nervous at any creak she heard. Her eyes watching the door for him to come in. But he didn't and finally she gave way to sleep.

A howling awoke her from her dreams and she was disoriented for a moment, trying to remember where she was. Dim moonlight outlined the bedroom and she turned her head, nervously reaching to feel at the bed beside her. It was empty, unslept on. There was a chill in the air and she shivered but sat up. There was a candle and box of matches next to her and she lit it, casting shadows around the little room. She was in her nightdress and her bare feet but despite the cold she wondered after North.

The other room was just as cold. The fire was down to its embers and there sat North, leaning onto the table, his head pillowed in his arms fast asleep.

Had he just fallen asleep before coming to bed or did he stay out here on purpose? The thought of him keeping away from her was both a relief but also hurtful somehow and she struggled inside over it. She had only known him less than 3 days. Walking back to the bed, Faith pulled the simple but heavy quilt off and brought it into the front room. Gently she draped it over him, sure that he would be roused but he carried on sleeping steadily. Her father's coat hung from a peg by the door and she took it back into bed with her, curling up under it and falling asleep soon after.

When North woke up, only a faint grey light of early morning greeted him as he tried to raise his head from the hard wooden table. His neck complained sharply and he had to ease it to turn forward. His back and legs also stiff as he straightened up he stretched and blinked.

Then he remembered.

He looked at the door to the bedroom which was slightly opened. He was no longer alone. Faith was here. He had mixed feelings boiling up in his mind. A confusing excitement and curiosity. Discomfort at things no longer being what he was used to. Worry. Worry that she would struggle to live here. Finding out she was not a hand at riding, the poor dinner last night, such things he assumed any woman could do. Had he made a mistake? Graham had told him this would be new for her. But then he remembered coming in from the range seeing the warm lights in the windows where none had ever greeted him before. He hadn't expected for her to come out, meeting him at the door. The strange and overwhelming leap in his chest had stopped him in his footsteps and he had to take it in.

When he had seen her on the Henryville platform he was sure it was a mistake. She looked only a girl. Lacking what he would expect an apt woman to convey in stature and attitude, Faith seemed so small and frail, too young. North felt he had been misled and it crossed his mind to walk away. But she was there, keeping her part. When she spoke it had struck him. Not often had he heard someone speak how she had. Proper and prim.

Of course, shy would not even begin to describe him and he had spent less time around women in his life than most. Five brothers, his mother had died when he was young and he grew up at a military post caring for army cattle. Later he had shown a talent in tracking and in knowing the wilderness he was taken on as a scout and liaison to the indian tribes around. Truth was he would rather face a grizzly bear with a stick than be alone with a woman.

But something was different about Faith. He felt responsible, protective but even more importantly, intent on her. That he found her nice to look at was undeniable. The intensity of her dark eyes was different than any others he could remember. The lightness of her voice, even her small frame, she spoke and moved with a sound grace as though to music*. Still, he was concerned if it would be too much for her to change and to handle this mountain that would challenge any woman he supposed. The rawness of the land and little commodities, the isolation. He worried if he would be able to help her do so but more importantly, keep her happy.

And he very much wanted her to be happy.

Then he realized the blanket was laying on the floor, it was from the bed. She must have put it on him after he'd slept. It was a small thing, but nobody had done such a thing for him for a long time.

He picked up the blanket and went to the door. Holding his breath, North opened it and stepped in. There she lay sleeping. It wasn't a dream. Only her large coat lay over her, her cuddled feet protruding out from the bottom. Putting the blanket over her somewhat he sighed.

There was no time for this now, he had trouble. North was sure someone had rustled his cattle. He didn't want to worry the girl. It was his concern. He would go out to track the trail he could not yesterday. Not with such a late start and with just bringing Faith here.

Still wearing his clothes from yesterday he went back to the kitchen and took the wooden bucket and went out to the creek fetching some water. Pouring it in the wash basin in the bedroom he heard her shift, a soft hum escaping her lips. He walked back around to her side of the bed. She looked so perfect sleeping there he didn't want to disturb her but there was work to be done. Gently he touched her shoulder. "Ma'am? Faith?"

Her face turned to him and her eyes fluttered open then widened in alarm. Startled she cried out a little as she looked at him and stiffened, pulling the coat up close to her chin. He couldn't blame her. Embarrassed that he hadn't bothered to tame his hair and beard he must look a sight as he loomed over her.

"Pardon Ma'am…it's morning."

The eyes of slate darted to the window then back to him, her chest rising and falling and she lay back against the pillow.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Coming to herself she said quickly.

She pushed herself up to sitting, her long hair had been braided loosely. Still she held the coat up like a barrier between them.

North smoothed at his hair, "I'll be outside at the creek. There's water in the washstand and a towel there."

He left her. Today he fed the horses and eyed the meager wood pile. Then he washed and headed back into the house. Faith was in the kitchen, the smell of cooking bacon promising and she slipped outside to gather some eggs from the hen house.

It seemed to him she was trying so hard, she was almost frantic as she brought over a tin cup and the coffee pot. He watched her pour it apprehensively, her hand shaking slightly. This time it was black, blackest coffee he'd ever seen and he thought he saw a large lump plop into the cup. It couldn't be as bad as it was yesterday he assured himself. Perhaps the grounds had gone bad he thought as he stared at it. Looking longside at her in the kitchen she had been watching him but quickly turned to the eggs in the pan. Sighing he picked up the cup and it smelled potent but he took a sip. It hit like a slap in the face and had an aftertaste of what he figured axle grease would. But he didn't say anything to her and she brought a plate over. The bacon wasn't burnt but nicely cooked. The eggs were over easy. He should have told her he hated over easy. Maybe she should have asked.

"Thanks ma'am." He heard himself say. "Imma cut a half cord of wood before I go out. I fed the horses but the chickens need to be tended. Oh, there's a cellar there you can get to from the outside*. I got some potatoes, apples, carrots and jerky. I'll bring home some steak tonight."

She nodded shyly.

He worked quickly quartering the logs and the sun rose steadily. He wanted to leave before lunch. Faith wandered out to the barn to get grain for the chickens then went to the well to look in it.

"Which is better? Water from the well or the creek?" She called over to him.

"Doesn't much matter here. Creek water's fresh from the spring. I drove the well just to have the option incase there's a dead critter taint the creek or somethin'. Taste it and see which you cotton to." He said as he wiped the sweat that trickled down his temples with his neckerchief. She put the bucket down and then began to work the winch. He picked up another log and axed it then heard her calling. Looking up she was leaning over the stone wall, her hair tangled up in the pulley system. He dropped the axe and hurried over. It was caught good and if he turned it one way or the other she squeaked in pain.

"Might have to cut it…" He said, following the track of the hair as it looped and spiraled tightly in the wheels.

She looked up at him in alarm, "No please…"

North pulled up the bucket the rest of the way, easing the tension and thought, "If'n you'll stand up on the wall here and lean in as close as you can I might could try to loosen it."

He helped her up and she teetered but he grabbed her around the waist and she round his neck, her forehead pressed his ear.

"Careful there." He repressed an amused smile.

But the slack it gave was enough for him to work the length of hair free and finally she stood away from it, rubbing her scalp, "I think I prefer the creek…"

He almost laughed but nodded, "Might want to tie your hair back proper, leav'n it down ain't practical I s'pose."

After that, with some jerky, an apple and a few slices of bread he rode off into the hills. He had bunched the herd the day before for a quick count and did so again today. Still he came up almost 60 short. It took him hours scouting the woods around. The beasts usually liked to stay in the meadows where the grass was abundant and the water was slower running. Now he noticed it was mostly very young stock, calves and a few of their mothers that had disappeared. This solidifying his suspicions of thievery. Then he came across the tracks at the far end of the valley. Driven cattle and shawed horses. He had brought his rifle and knew it to be loaded as well as his walker colt and started after the trail.

Part of his reasoning for running cattle up in these ranges was the difficulty of taking them out. The only safe route was a long and winding trail of a riverbed that was dry part time of the year. It took days to drive the cattle through there and required many stops for rest and clearing debris that had washed downstream in the wet season of the winter and spring. It wasn't likely a common rustler would bother to do so unless they were targeting him specifically. Not with more available herds easily accessed at the foot of the mountains below.

He frowned. His herd was in fine shape with the feed and easy life they lived up here. His brand he had chosen was a star with a C inside, difficult to alter. But the calves hadn't been branded yet and he scolded himself for waiting so long. He had been preoccupied with getting ready for the girl.

The trail led away from Box Junction, deeper into the mountains. Pine needles covered the ground but every now and again a beach of loose soil would capture the tracks like a fingerprint. North could read a trail clearer and faster than some folks read a newspaper. The placement and size of the hoof and length of the stride. There were three riders all on long legged horses two of which had new shoes. One horse looked as though it was favoring. Another was skittish. Two of the riders were smaller one bigger than he. They had come through most likely the day he'd left. They knew he was going to be gone because he always rode the herd all the hours of light. There had never been a reason to be home before.

He knew these mountains and as the direction of the drive went, there was only one pass out to a wide gully that opened out onto a lonely stretch of prairie. From there the cattle could be taken anywhere, to Henryville or Rio de Negro. The muscles in his jaw and shoulders tightened. Had he passed his own cattle as he rode back from Henryville? 58 head. No, rustlers usually brought larger herds to look legitimate. His stock could very well still be close. But this pass, it was treacherous. Following a narrow trail along a cliff by a tossing, thrashing river.

His bay, Rush, picked up speed at his urge and they followed the trail until it pulled alongside the river. The trail continued at the same elevation but the river fell into rapids that descended with jagged rocks along its sides leaving the trail on a cliff. The other side of the trail was pressured by a sandy, steep hill. The sand would wash down onto the trail making it more slippery. Yes the cattle had come along here! These men were reckless.

He proceeded until something caught his eye 70 feet below. A calf. It had fallen and now lay motionless on the merciless rocky fingers jutting from the side of the river. He kicked his horse forward, a burning anger billowing in him. Further on he found more that had fallen, some may not have died instantly. North had always had an affinity to animals and senseless pain, whether it be from negligence or intentional act, was unacceptable.

From the beginning of his tracking he had learned much about these men who had stolen from him. They were skilled horsemen and knew cattle, also they were devious and they were cruel. Would they come back to take more? Perhaps if the the timing was right. And they'd have to know it ahead of time somehow. That meant it was most likely someone who he knew of or at least someone he knew passed the information on.

He had few friends as he had lived a solitary life away from town. His brothers all lived in California and so he was left to himself mostly. The field was narrow. Going over his acquaintances in his mind it couldn't have been more than four or five people.

The path began to broaden and there were no more carcass'. There had been 21 lost over the edge. All their effort for 37 cattle. He reined in his horse and looked down into the widening gully. The rustled cattle were gone to him, even if he caught up to them they'd be branded and mixed in with others by now. North had clues and he would be patient, but he would find out who had done this.

But he had responsibilities behind him now. He would round up the remaining calves to brand at once and a cow for beef then pick up the milking cow from the old Kiowa man that lived two ridges over.

Turning his horse he headed back into the mountain.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. All original characters and plot are the property of the author. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **Just noticed there hasn't been a new addition to this fandom for a year. Hope this isn't disappointing.**

* * *

With the help of her shell comb, Faith had managed to secure her hair up. It was indeed easier to weed and dig about the garden and tend to the fires. She felt more confident in her dinner today and had prepared a stew that only lacked the beef that North should be bringing.

He had just come back in from the barn and was filling the oil lamp reservoir. North was quiet and always seeming to be working over some thought in his head. She was learning this and would try not to bother him with mindless talk.

His cup of coffee sat cooling for some time before he took a sip, his eyes flickered over to her but he did not sour his features. She had one of her books out and nervously asked, "I love to read. Do you like to read?" Faith wanted to distract from the coffee.

Dipping a piece of bread into the stew he took a bite, chewing around the words, "Haven't much tried many books. Know how to read some, sign my name."

"I could read to you, if you'd like?" Faith ventured, watching him eat. It brought some satisfaction to see him have an appetite. "Would you like me to warm up your coffee?"

At her questions he swallowed, working something out in his mouth with his tongue then said, "Doesn't make me no mind, hot or cold. I'd listen to your book."

Faith wasn't sure what he meant about the coffee but she took the cup and warmed it up anyway then read the poetry of Walter Scott for a time.

After she had cleaned up she she bid him goodnight and went into the room with the lamp. She dressed for bed, braided her hair and sat on the edge of the bed wondering if he would sleep out at the table again. Slowly she stood back up and stood in the doorway.

"North?"

Sitting in the dark with only the dying flicker from the hearth, he had been staring into the fire with concerned eyes, distracted but he looked up at her, "Yeah?"

"Are you tired?" She didn't know how to approach her question.

She knew he was from the slump in his shoulders and the weariness in his voice.

But he responded, "Not much."

"Will you come in to bed?" She kept her eyes on his despite the nervous knot in her stomach.

His hesitation wasn't one of reluctance but surprise.

He licked his lips and stood up, "Sure."

Faith went to the far side of the bed and slipped under the blanket. The one oil lamp in the house and sat it on the night table on the other side of the bed near the door. He met her gaze for a moment and then turned around to sit down on the edge of the bed which creaked under the weight. He pulled his boots off, taking his time to set them aside, then his shoulders heaved a sigh and he began to unbutton his vest to remove it and his shirt. They needed cleaning she thought.

"Did you find the missing cattle?" She asked as he was down to his long johns and pivoted to lay down.

He pulled the quilt over him and rolled his head to look at her, "Some of them. They'd fallen off a ledge, died."

Despite herself she gave a sharp gasp, "How awful! I hope that doesn't happen often."

Reaching over to extinguish the lamp he said lowly, "Me too."

The darkness settled and she could feel the warmth from where he lay not far from her.

Of the poetry she had read in her lifetime, some had been romantic and although she had not given the subject very much mind, she had imagined she would fall in love with someone someday and they would be married like in the stories. Here it felt somewhat backwards, married and now she waited for the romance, hoping it would come. Her feelings for North, jumbled as they were, she knew she found him handsome and she felt eager to please him. But she wasn't sure that she did, or ever would love him. For she was unsure she even knew what love was.

Faith turned on her side, her back to North, but she inched backward until she felt him. He didn't move or say anything but she soon heard his breathing soften and it lulled her to sleep.

The next few days went by quickly.

Faith took on a routine of getting up before dawn and feeding the animals then preparing breakfast. North took to branding the new calves and then would work on the barn unless he left to tend the herd. Then she would clean, do the wash, prepare meals and whatever else came up. Her garden was ready to plant and North had some seeds that she set to grow. Squash, carrots, green beans and corn.

A few days North took her out with him to ride. To what seemed his relief as well as her own, Faith picked up riding fairly quickly and she even thought she saw a glint of pride in North's eye.

She would ride side saddle as well as stride and North would talk to her of ranching.

This small victory was overshadowed by many failures for her. She could not seem to get the coffee quite right, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to ask North what she might be doing wrong and he never mentioned it.

She made butter but decided to prepare some jam for her bread and went to find the berries North had told her about in the woods. She had not explored far yet and tried to stay within sight of the cabin. Lobo followed her at a distance. No bushes could be found around the tree line so she had to explore deeper and finally found an abundance of the thimbleberries. In her excitement she kept walking on further, picking as she went in the tangle of the brambles. Of course when she went to go home she was disoriented and began to panic. Lobo sat watching her with his head tilted and his tongue out.

Quenching the arising panic she said, "Lobo! Go home! Where's home?"

To her surprise the dog turned and began to walk slowly and soon she saw the house through the trees.

That was when the itching started.

Soon a red rash had spread up her arms from her hands and some places on her legs and her neck and one cheek. Looking in the little mirror he had hanging on the wall in their room she was so embarrassed that when North got home she hid under the covers in bed.

She could hear his heavy footsteps as he came in the house and then into the bedroom.

"Faith? What's wrong? You feel'n poorly?" There was a concern in his voice.

The irritation and burning made her whimper a little and she heard him walk around to her side of the bed and he took the covers away. With instant deduction she could tell he knew what was wrong but she told him what had happened anyway.

"Better go rinse in the creek a bit. The cold'll help." He went to the kitchen and quickly began to mix up a white paste. He was right, the coolness on her skin soothed the itching as she dipped her feet and arms into the flow. After, she began to coat the red splotches with the paste.

She felt the sting of embarrassment again. Surely most anyone familiar to these parts, even a child would know what such a plant looked like and knew to stay away from it.

"You'll remember after this I reckon." he said it with sympathy, helping her spread the paste on her neck and cheek.

Faith had no taste for the jam for a long time after that.

North had mentioned the Kiowa man but Faith only saw him once. He and North went out to the meadow and cut the grass for the animals to feed on. The man North called John was older, fifty perhaps and wore woven pants and a hide shirt. North spoke to him in what she assumed was his language. This was a surprise to her. The old man only smiled once when she offered him a loaf of freshly baked bread and butter.

Sometimes the slow rush of the wind thru the needles of the pines and the quiet trickle of the brook seemed louder than the clatter of carriages and the constant murmur of the human voice she remembered from the city. When she was about the house she kept busy but for lack of company she began to experience loneliness. As often as North would consent she would go out with him to the pastures. Here it was she discovered the creosote bushes and their fragrance that she had smelled on North that first day.***

She had finally named her horse Sheen as her coat did so in the light of the sun. A rich black that turned deep nut brown to a golden at the flanks, belly, chest and nose. Sheen seemed just as eager to work the herd and would readily confront a straying calf, guiding it back to the group. North had taken to carrying a running rod and brand as he rode and would mark as he went.

There was a bawling female cow heard in the trees and Faith rode out to bring her back in. As she came up on it, she saw the cow was fretting over her calf who seemed to be coiled up in a rope, tangled in a sturdy bush. Faith tried to loosen it but the rope held tight and the animal would flail about in panic. So she rode back to where North was just starting a fire to heat his brand.

Leading him back to the bound calf North looked over the animal with a particular reservation.

"Could you cut it loose?" Faith asked.

He shook his head, "I want the rope whole." But didn't explain why. "Here, I'm going to lay it down to untangle it's legs. You put your knee to it's neck and turn it's head up so's it stays quiet."

As big as North was, he strained to force the animal to it's side then began to work slack into the tightened line. It must have been bound for hours. Faith wondered how it had gotten in such a predicament. Surely North wouldn't have left his rope on the calf, or out where the animal could get tangled in it. She was about to ask when the calf began to thrash about and suddenly North grunted.

He almost had the rope undone. He was constraining the strong hind legs of the calf, mindful of its sharp hooves when he felt the sharp bite on his back near the base of his neck. It felt like the sting of a scorpion and immediately he reached back with a hand, letting go of the fighting leg of the cow. The distressed animal kicked a wicked blow which caught him in the rib cage, knocking him backward to the ground. The animal whipped around until it wiggled from the rope and scrambled up, running off free.

Faith ran to him as he rolled onto his side, unable to breath. The explosion of pain there dazed him for a moment and he couldn't respond to her alarmed questions.

"Are you alright? Oh North! What should I do?"

It took a moment of him waiting for the pain to lessen until he could take in a breath and he managed, "Back of my neck. Something's there…."

For a moment she looked confused then she moved around where she could pull the collar down and he heard her gasp. Whatever it was was still drilling into him.

"What…" he tried to reach up but she pushed his hand away.

Her voice shook, "It's...I had mended this shirt and, I must have forgotten...I left the needle…"

North grunted harshly, "Faith! Take it out."

He felt her tug it firmly and he was relieved of the pain substantially there. But where he had been kicked he could hardly move.

"I'm so sorry…" He heard her say but he had his eyes closed, trying to come to terms with the agony.*

After a moment he gritted his teeth and pushed himself up to sit, sending a new shock through him but he bit his tongue and tried to stand. Faith had a hold of his arm and he let her steady him.

There had been anger and frustration. But he knew it was a mistake. A thoughtless one but one anyone could have made and he could find no reason nor had any heart to lay into her. Finally looking at her glistening eyes he could tell she was already horrified at the blunder.

"I'll be alright." Even speaking hurt.

"Let me look at it…" She spoke gently.

North waved her away, "No it's alright."

He turned to get the rope that lay on the ground and groaned. Faith picked it up and went back to his side.

"Please come sit, I think it's starting to bleed." Her small hand took hold of his elbow and she pulled him towards a fallen log.

His legs stiffly moved. Each step jolting the pain afresh. He sat down and she began to study the tear carefully. Then she tried to lift just his shirt but the long johns remained blocking her from fully seeing the damage. He resisted her unbuttoning his shirt at first but then gave in. She folded the long underwear down and from off his arms to his waist.

His torso was covered in nearly a dozen old, raised, white and purple scars that spanned over his defined muscles. Faith took in a breath at the sight, her eyes going up to his but he was looking away. She looked back to where he had been kicked under his right arm. The area was reddening and a nasty slash of five inches was bleeding. It would bruise awfully.

Faith only had a small handkerchief which was clean and she hadn't used it for perspiration yet. She pulled it from her pocket and began to dab softly at the cut. North barely flinched but she knew he was in terrible pain. She went back for her canteen and wettened the cloth then began to clean at it again. It was fairly superficial as far as she could tell and so she just held it to his side, hoping the coolness would help.

"I'm sorry North." She uttered helplessly.

He just turned to see the wound, "It's done. I know you didn't do it a'purpose."

She pressed her lips together, trying to control her emotion then said, "What happened?"

Her finger barely touched one of his scars on his upper arm.

Reticentment* caught his voice but he couldn't think of a reason not to tell her, "They're from fights."

"Fights? With animals?" She asked, taking the cloth away and refolding it then covering the cut again.

He shook his head, "No, I grew up alongside the Cheyenne and Kiowa in Oklahoma territory. By Fort Cobb and sometimes there would be fights."

Faith realized she knew so little of North's history. He had spoken of 5* brothers who now lived on the coast to the west.

"These are from knives?" She ventured.

He tipped his head in the affirmative, "My grandmother was Cheyenne. Most of them tribes, gett'n herded together by the army. There was scraps over land and game. To many of them I was an enemy, but I had my friends. One Bad Dog. We was always gett'n into it with braves from the Kaw and soldiers from the fort there. I wasn't a very good hand at it at first. So I got cut."

Memories of that time filled his mind and he was grateful for it. It fogged the soreness. He remembered playing in the camps and wrestling the other boys. His father had owned a trading post and he and his brothers had grown up there north of the Arkansas. He and his brothers; Daniel, Barnabas, Randolph, Silas, and Cleveland spent their days in the woods and were mostly accepted by their grandmother's people.

Then the war of the north and south came and they were all drafted. North was posted right there at Fort Cobb though. Many of the other soldiers shunned him as he had sympathies and blood ties with the native people they were to keep track of. But with these connections his superiors found him invaluable. He spoke both Cheyenne and Kiowa and a little Camanche. So his duties were more of a liaison and scout.

He told Faith some of this and she listened quietly accept to ask questions to clarify. Then she pointed to an abnormal scar. It was larger and not so linear. It pocked his skin just above his hip.

"That wasn't from a knife, that was...where Bad Dog shot me." He stumbled on the words. "I...the army went against the Cheyenne at the Washita River. No warning, just went to wipe 'em out. I was only nineteen, I'd been drink'n. When I heard of the order, I went caterwauling to the Captain, I should have ridden out there to warn 'em. They put me in the brig and by the time I got out, it was done. I went to the camp and there was nothing there. They didn't even know how many people had died. They knew exactly how many horses they killed and kept, but not how many people were lay'n out there. Then Bad Dog shot me and I don't blame him."

The raw sorrow in her eyes surprised him, as if she could feel the grief and guilt he had carried all these years. Since then he had not touched liquor nor returned to that place.

Bound with her handkerchief and the shirt, North suffered the rest of the day until they went home late in the afternoon. They were to go to Box Junction that week and Faith asked if she could get yardgoods for a skirt and blouse, and a new shirt for him. In his passive way, North just shrugged saying, 'Suit yourself.' As he often did.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. All original characters and plot are the property of the author. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **I just noticed I think I changed the first names of some of the Miller's too. I don't know what I was thinking.**

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The high sun of afternoon was beating across the false fronted alley of Box Junction when North and Faith rode in.

With two steers on a tether line they hitched their horses in front of the mercantile store. Sliding from his saddle North reached up to help Faith down and she adjusted her hat, tucking at the wisps of hair that had escaped her bun from the long ride down the canyon.

It had been almost two months since they had come through but the quaint little town hadn't changed. The street was quiet besides a few men moving about. A pump squeaked and the sigh of the billows in the blacksmith's sounded as the forge was stoked.

Faith held a couple of gunny sacks, one with eggs and one with thimbleberries that she intended to sell to the store if possible. She walked with North to the livery, him leading the two steers and he settled them into a small corral separate from any horses stabled there.

The blacksmith who owned the livery also came over, leaning on the fence he worked a plug that made his brambled red beard shift back and forth.

"Mighty nice looking animals you got there Cassidy." The man commented, he might have been forty but looked older with the hard work of one who has stood over a blazing forge most of his life. "I don't think I never saw a healthier steer. You sell'n 'em?"

North nodded, "Joseph wants 'em."

He gave the man ten cents to keep them and then they walked back down the street, passing the store again and moving on to the small jail house at the end of the row. The door was open and Cecil Graham was at a desk with a cup of coffee and a week old paper.

Looking up at them he smiled, "Well there you are! Both of you!"

He stood to nod to Faith, "Ma'am, you're looking fine just fine, that mountain air suits you?"

At his warm reception Faith smiled, "Yes sir, it's lovely up there."

Judge Graham looked pleased and turned to shake North's hand and brought his other hand to pat his arm, bumping it into his side. Still sore North grimaced at the touch.

Graham didn't miss it and asked with concern, "Everything alright son?"

Guiltily Faith dropped her eyes and North spoke quickly, "Got kicked by a calf. It's mend'n fast."

Worry still apparent in his face, Cecil hitched a smile, "Well that's good to hear. Come in and sit. Got some coffee on."

Again North looked awkward, "Uh, been trying to give it up actually."

"How does a body get through the day without coffee?!" asked a truly surprised Judge Graham.

Faith's cheeks blushed and she turned her head, her hands wringing at the necks of the sacks.

Trying to suppress a smile, North cleared his throat, "Always left me a bit jittery anyway."

The older man just shook his head and chuckled, "Well since you're down here, we should go fish'n! That river of yours' wash'n down mighty fine look'n bass."

"Mebbe. But I wanted to talk to ya about some things." North trailed off as he glanced at the small woman next to him, "Uh Faith, could you go see if Joseph wants to take a look at them white faces before he tries to haggle the price down with me?"

What he wanted to talk about he felt might worry her needlessly and decided it would be best if she weren't there for the conversation.

Glancing between them, Faith gave a halfhearted smile, "Of course, I'll wait for you there then?"

She obviously knew what his intention was, her eyes perceptive and considering.*

North took out a couple gold pieces from his pocket and held them out to her.

"For your cloth." He said.

"Don't you want to pick something out for your shirt?" She took it slowly.

"I reckon you'd choose better'n me."

At this Faith brightened and she nodded to Judge Graham again and stepped out and started down the walk.

Cecil's friendly smile tensed into a concerned line, "It's been that rough has it?"

North had taken his hat off and raised an eyebrow in surprise, "Wouldn't put it that way. It's been...not what I'd expected."

With his calm mannerisms, North was a difficult man to read but he glanced over at the coffee pot a little too long. Graham noticed and went over to pour him a cup and handed it to him. North didn't take it at first, almost feeling guilty but Cecil gave him an encouraging touch to the shoulder.

"I told you. They breed 'em different, them city girls." Said Cecil as North took the cup.

Watching him, the judge sat on his desk and folded his arms, waiting expectantly.

North took a sip and accidently let a pleased smile slightly show, "She's take'n to it. She's try'n."

"But is she happy North?" The question had been lingering in North's mind like a ghost, troublesome and haunting.

He couldn't give the answer he wished he could and he glanced out the window for diversion.

"You remember Georgie Pfeffer got kicked in the head by that ornery mare o' their's and killed him. What if it had been more serious Cas? What would happen to her?" Sighed Graham.

With a weighty seriousness*, North exhaled, "That's why I want to have her name put on the land. I want her to be taken care of, if something happens to me."

The judge's eyes went thoughtful and he rubbed at his chin with a grunt. "Have you ever thought of giving up that ranch? Move to Henryville?"

The cup sank away from North's lips and he stared at the man.

"Now hold on there Cas. Don't look at me like I told ya to saw off your arm. I just mention it because I have a friend who is looking for a cattle shipper there. It's good, steady pay and you have an eye for cattle* that no one can match. And Faith would be back in a familiar situation again. She'd be more comfortable."

Feeling jarred almost as much as when the calf's sharp hoof had impacted his side, North stood aghast. It was something that was almost unfathomable. North had come upon that mountain on his way to settle with his brothers and had gone no further. The jutting peaks, the green meadows dappled with wildflowers and solitude broken* only by the pure, cool winds that soared that high. He felt as though it was a part of him. To leave it?

But what if Faith didn't see it the same way? What if it was a prison for her? If he had thought of it before she had come he would have most likely called the whole thing off. But now, that possibility that he had to consider. Not because he was obligated to, but because he had a deep ambition to do what he could for Faith.* Even leave the uplands?

There must have been a time of quiet deliberation and Cecil's voice brought him from his contemplation.

"Northrop, just think about it. What would that little lady do with all that land by herself? I think Lew Miller would push her off of it, force her to sell at a loss…maybe if you had a trustee, one of your brothers...or even I…." Graham spoke the painfully possible words smoothly.

While North shuddered to think of the land being sold, especially to Miller, it was a very likely chance. Big Lew Miller was aggressive and had been hounding North for months now to sell to him. The thought of him pressuring Faith like he had threatened and spurred him made him bristle protectively. At the same time, he had seen some quiet resolve in her, perhaps she wouldn't be pushed so easily.

"Write it up Cecil, I'll sign it. I reckon Faith can handle the estate, but just in case, you put your name on there to help her would ya?"*****

Joseph Fry looked up when Faith came in the door.

"Well good morning Mrs. Cassidy!" the thin man came out from behind the counter with a friendly smile.

Realizing how long it had been since she had been around people other than North she smiled back at the familiar hint of society. There was one other man in the store as she entered who was looking at the jaw traps. Probably later twenties with dark hair and small, darting eyes. He was wiry and slouched a little in his shoulders. He looked over at her as she came in.

"Good morning Mr. Fry how are you?" She asked, the two sacks still in hand.

The man wiped his hands on his apron, "Please call me Joseph. Everyone does. Mr. Fry sounds so old."

They laughed together. The other man quietly went out the door leaving them alone.

"Now what can I help you with?" He asked.

"Well there are a few things we need. Do you carry any seeds in stock? I was hoping to find tomatoes." Faith told him, reaching in one of the sacks for the list she had made.

Fry frowned as he took the paper from her, "I don't have any tomato seeds in but I would sure order them for you. It'd take a good couple of months."

"That's alright." She smiled, "I was also looking to buy some yardage. A skirt length, a pocket shirt and a blouse?"

At this his brows raised as if he'd remembered something, "I do have something I'd like for you to have a look at first."

Taken back at the man's sudden enthusiasm** Faith blinked at his back as he disappeared into a back room.

Looking to a small shelf next to her which held few ornate dishes and a mantle clock she traced a finger along the cut design in one of the glass reservoirs of a lamp. Mr. Fry came back out, bulking cloth hanging over his arms.

"Now I don't usually carry these, not much call for them." he chuckled as he laid out what she could see now were dresses on the counter. "Cas had me order some when you came through. Said it was for your birthday and you'd be in to see if you liked them. I order them from a woman in Henryville who sends on what she doesn't sell so I never know what I'll get. I told her they needed to be...petite of course."

For her birthday? That was five days away. No wonder he hadn't said much when she had asked him about getting material for a new set of work clothes for her. Her dress, because of the higher hem, it would brush up against the hearth and she had more than one singed spot.

Fry was smoothing them out, "I had them folded up in the cedar chest to keep them from the dust and moths so they've a few creases…"

There was a plain linen dress of a violet and blue plaid pattern which had a modest ruffle that yoked the bodice and cuffs. The other dress was more fancy. A rich, deep blue with the skirt extra full and an orate stitching at the bottom. The bodice was simple but fitted and had a row of matching buttons running down the front. It's sleeves were long and had a little extra impractical material at the shoulders. It was lovely.

Faith's father had fallen ill when she was 15 and so had never had a grown woman's dress. The dress she wore was one she'd been given before she came because her other dresses were far too small anymore. With their fortune gone nothing more couldn't be spared. A woman kept her hem close to the ground, not to even expose her ankles. It suddenly struck Faith that she was a woman now. A married woman.

"They're already paid for, if you'd like to try one on you can go in the stock room, there's a lock and a mirror in there." he offered.

The shawl and the comb, her horse and now the dresses. What had she done for him? Left a needle carelessly to stick him and give him coffee that tasted little better than lye. For a moment she thought of asking for the money back but somehow she knew that North would want her to have them. He may even feel insulted if she didn't accept them. Like it or not he was stuck with her now and she would have to just keep trying to not disappoint him.

Joseph took her sacks from her, picked the dresses back up and escorted her to the stockroom. She tried the linen dress on first. It was too long and hung a bit loose about her waist. She would have to take it in but it was a suitable daily dress especially in warmer weather. Reluctantly she tried on the finer dress, the skirt was gathered more at the back giving it a bit of a bustle look. It was snug about her slender middle but the hem went only an inch or two above the floor. It fit like a glove.* She then noticed that the color of the dress was very close to the color of the ribbon that wrapped around the crown of her hat. About to change back into her old dress she glanced in the mirror one last time. No she'd wear it home, she would have to clean it after the long ride but she couldn't help but be excited about it.***

She moved back into the store, the fuller skirt brushing against the shelves, tables and counter as she walked.

Mr. Fry had some spectacles on that he was studying his ledger with and looked over the top of the rims.

"Why Mrs. Cassidy that is nice indeed!"

She blushed a little, her hat still in her hands, "Thank you Mr...Joseph. I'd like to see some material to make another shirt for North."

"Of course ma'am." The merchant came around the counter to show her over to a wall of yardage. "North huh? Never thought to call him that."

She smiled shyly again but looked over the different bolts of cloth until she found one, a small blue and white check pattern of durable quality.

As he cut the shirt length he asked casually, "So you're a seamstress?"

She nodded, "I was quite good at needle point. I made many shirts for my father."

"I'll tell you, boys around here go through shirts like rolling paper. I can't keep them in stock and they have to go to Henryville." He looked thoughtful as he folded the cloth. "Say, if you were to make some extra, I'd pay a ridiculously good price for them. I'd even supply the yardage!"

Faith was about to politely refuse, she didn't even know when they'd be back to town next and what extra time she may have in the day. With that she usually liked to read or go with North out into the pastures.

Her fingers spread across the new fabric of her dress and frowned. On the other hand, perhaps she could make enough to pay him back for the dresses though, then she wouldn't feel like such a burden.

Mr. Fry noticed her hesitation, "Oh if it's inconvenient for you I understand."

"Well maybe if I spoke to...my husband about it first, could I tell you before we leave today?" It was so strange to call him her husband.

Joseph nodded with a warm smile, "Of course! Now let's get you all packed up."

"Oh Joseph, I have some thimbleberries and eggs I was wondering if you were interested in buying?" Faith remembered when she saw her bags still sitting on the counter.

"I may be able to use some of the eggs but not likely the berries. Not much call for raw berries." He paused then spoke again, "Well actually, maybe over at the Loop, they have lunches and dinners they do. That gal Maggie who works over there, she's a decent cook you know. Maybe she'd want some for pie or something if you'd want to go ask her?"

Averting her eyes, Faith shook her head, "Oh, I've never been in a place like that."

A worried expression took the man's face, "I'm sorry I understand! Please, would you like me to go ask her for you?"

"Oh no sir, I don't want to put you out." Faith shook her head.

"No trouble t'all ma'am I'd be happy to. To be honest no one comes in this early anyway and it'd only take a few minutes if you were going to stay here?"

Faith smiled and nodded, "Alright thank you very much."

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 **THis was an awkward place to end this chapter I know. It just was going to be super long so I just kinda ended it and the second half is chapter 5. Sorry!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. All original characters and plot are the property of the author. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **Any suggestions I appreciate!**

* * *

Joseph had gone and Faith looked at the packages he had put in the crate. North would have to fit it all in the saddle packs and she was beginning to think maybe she should change back after all, worried that the bulky skirt would be in the way.

The light from the open front door was eclipsed and she half-turned around expecting to see Mr. Fry or even North but with the bright light coming from behind him it took her a moment to realize it was Everett Miller.

He stood there with one thumb in his belt the other tipping his hat, "Beautiful day innit?"

She instantly felt wary but nodded politely.

"Very beautiful." his words followed as he continued to take stock of her.

She turned around looking back at her purchases, trying to insinuate her disinterest in any further conversation.

His spurs and footsteps sounded behind her but she straightened her posture and kept looking occupied examining North's shirt fabric.

Rett came to the counter and leaned over on his elbows casually, "Is Joe around? I have some goods I'd like to take a look at."

"Yes he was just here I'm sure he'll be back directly." She kept her voice uninterested but civil.

"Listen to you. That eastern talk is like silk ain't it? I bet it's right dull being corralled up there on that mountain. You should move down here, least there's decent conversation. Cas, iffn' he talks at all it's about cow's 'n indians. 'Sides, in a nice dress like that you should show it off to more'n just the mountain cats."

He turned a little so as to face her, still loafing with one elbow on the counter.

Timidly she took a step away from him but kept her voice firm, "I find the mountain quite appealing and the conversation is more intriguing than most."

Her eyes flashed the last part.

His head tipped back visibly, visibly surprised at her boldness.

"You've got some salt Mrs. Cas. He's a lucky man indeed." Rett straightened up and looked over her packages. "I'd be happy to help you with your things. Seems your man left you with some heavy lifting."

"That's not necessary Mr. Miller. My husband will be here any moment. Thank you." Faith put her hat on and began to tie the ribbon to secure it. A strand of her hair fell onto her cheek as she did so and Rett reached up to push it aside. Faith leaned away sharply.

"Mr. Miller if you cannot act a gentleman then I'll be leaving." And she turned around, leaving her things and went out the door. She was upset, flushed and walked quickly, not daring to look back. Up ahead she saw North walking the length of this side of the street towards her. Try as she might she couldn't stop her feet from hurrying to him, her composure strained and it was obvious she was distressed.

North noticed and met her with pointedly concerned eyes, "Faith? What's wrong?"

He looked over her head easily and saw Rett in front of the store, staring down the walk at them. North's features set rigidly as did his shoulders, "Miller?"

Faith fought at the persistent dangle of hair, not replying.

"Did he put his hands on you?" Came his simmering question.

She shook her head, gaining a little control over herself.

North stepped around his little wife and started towards Rett.

Suddenly realizing what her childish handling of the situation had set into motion she turned to hurry after him.

"North it's alright it's nothing." She patted at his arm but he kept moving.

Rett's face was amused and he leaned against an awning post.

"'Afternoon there Cas. What's wrong? You got a burr under your saddle?" Rett prodded.

"What'd you say to upset her?" North stepped up to him, smoldering.

With an easy chuckle Rett flicked North's shoulder with the backs of his fingers playfully, "Oh take it easy amigo. Just talk'n 'n being neighborly. Seems to me that filly of yorn's a bit skittish."

Glancing at where Rett had touched him North then looked back at the man, "I think you owe her an apology and a promise to not bother her again."

"Mr. Cas." Came a new voice from the street. There were a few men standing around, their attention directed at the obvious contention between the two men.

Faith recognised the man that had been in the store when she had come in and now looking at him, he looked somewhat like Rett. He was a Miller.

"Jest calm yourself down boy and come let me buy you a drink. We need to settle your land sale anyway." he ambled across the street. Both Millers wore single pistols.

North's boring gaze didn't leave Rett, "This ain't none of your affair Blythe. Only thing I'm settling is the question of your little brother here's poor manners toward womenfolk."

Little brother? Rett was far taller and more muscular than Blythe. But Blythe walked on cat feet, agile and sure footed*.

At North's words Rett flushed, "I'll break your neck for slander like that. Cassidy."

"I'm ready right now Rett if you're game to take off that gun." North was unbuckling his own and he handed it to Faith.

"North please…" She said softly as she took it from him.

A shadow of a wide grin returned to Rett's mouth and he pushed away from the post, reaching for his belt but Blythe came walking in between them, "Now Cassidy, don't be ask'n for more trouble than you can handle. Don't wanna embarrass yoself a'front o' that pretty thing of yours there…"

North finally turned to Blythe, "It wasn't me doing the ask'n but I'm more'n able to handle it."

Blythe put a inhibitory hand to Rett's chest, "Don't bother with him Rett. He ain't worth the skinned knuckles 'n dusty boots."

Looking over across the street North said, "That's not your normal pony Blythe, you're roan got a sore leg?"

Blythe froze, his relaxed wedged face suddenly dark and pinched, "What do you mean by that?"

"Isn't that your saddle with a nice new rope hanging from it too? What happened to your old one?" North asked boldly.

Clear blue eyes narrowing, Blythe sneered, "Just got a new one is all…"

"Well if you want your old one back you come by for it anytime." The words hit like a one-two punch and Blythe was furious.

"You accusing me of something Cassidy? Give it to him Rett." he stepped back and his 'little' brother made a sudden swing at North who rolled under the loaded force. He grabbed Rett's belt pulling him forward and putting his foot on the man's boot causing him to trip forward into Blythe.

Both fell to the dusty street and scrambled to get up. Blythe put his hand to his gun hilt but there was a shout, "Hold it right there Blythe."

Judge Graham stood a ways down the street with a rifle lined up to the older Miller. "You shoot an unarmed man and I'll see you hanged by that new rope before lunchtime. You got issues, you settle 'em fair."

Rett snorted and shucked his gunbelt, "I'll bust him up Blythe."

Miller was only an inch or two taller than North and both had built shoulders and arms from working long hard days in cattle country. Rett Miller prided himself on never having been beaten in a fist fight but after the three he had dominated no one else in the small community ever challenged him.

Now he put his two balled up hands in front of him, the amusement still present in his face but now a confident hatred billowed him up in an aggressive stance. He shuffle stepped towards North who only hunched slightly, his hands open and fingers loose, arms away from his opponent leaving himself unguarded. His legs were spread and he moved in liquid motion circling Miller.

Miller made the first move to strike, and his right went straight towards North's injured ribs were but with swift reflexes, North brought both wrists around to intercept the punch, throwing it away. Instantaneously North followed by bringing both fists in an arcing swing hitting Rett in the face one following another like swinging an axe. The subsequent hits were unexpected and Miller stumbled backward, a gash opened on his right cheek and he brought the back of his hand up at it unbelievingly. North stayed back, his arms loose and his mood unhurried. Rett's face then stormed and he went in for another stabbing swing, this time to the face. Again North's arms came up, blocking and the counter surely followed. Only one fist impacted followed by the other hand that grabbed the back of Rett's head while the lead fist had suddenly grabbed the dazed man's nostrils and North was now behind him and pulled him over backwards to the ground.

Howling in rage more than pain Rett rolled over to his hands and knees and jumped up.

This was not typical boxing and the crowd grew, belting the two in a human ring of sorts.

This time Rett feinted to throw another body punch and North flinched just enough that Miller could follow through with a blindingly fast hook to North's temple which spun him, almost sending him to the ground but he stagger stepped to keep his balance. Rett followed quickly with a jab to the stomach and another two lefts before North finally caught a sloppily swung haymaker of Rett's with one hand and leaned in, not striking the head or body but the inside of Rett's weight bearing knee, twisting it and the man groaned in pain. With a swift sweep of a leg North slipped it out from under him and Rett went to the ground again. This time North was standing over him and brought a flexed heel to the man's face. It could have been a terrible blow but it was controlled and there was a snap and blood began to flow. Rage making him immune to the pain Rett got to his feet and lumbered towards North throwing wild punches and landing a couple that burst North's lips and knocked the air at of him. But North's counter double punch threw the man off again dazing him long enough for North to get behind him again hooking his fingers under Miller's jaw and jerking his head back. At the same time he jumped up with a knee and delved it into the man's back. Rett cried out and down he went, wrething in pain in the street. North spit pent up blood, waiting patiently as Miller rolled over to push himself back up. Wavering slightly, Rett wiped at his cut and bleeding face, he slouched to the side a little but then rushed in with an angry roar. But he was too sloppy and slow, North deflected the half-aimed punches and grabbed Rett's head, and jerking it downward. There he cast swift punches to his body and ear. Then with all his weight he fell back onto his back, pulling Miller after him and kicking his body up over him. Rett did a flip and landed on his back in the street. He wouldn't be getting up again and Springing back to his feet, North staggered a little.

Blythe and another Miller who had been watching dashed in to assess their brother.

"What sort of fighting is that?!" Joseph was talking to the blacksmith.

Faith just stood there stunned for a moment, North's gun belt gripped in her hands.

"Keep shut of my wife and off my land Miller, all of you." He said with an eerie calm, his long cut hair falling into his face and he blew at his reddened knuckles.

Turning he walked back to Faith and took the belt without a word, strapping it on. His shirt was torn and soiled with dirt and blood.

"We won't forget this Cassidy." Said a younger Miller, Kerr.

North didn't say anything but put a hand to Faith's back and walked her into the store. Joseph hurried in after them.

"Land Sakes Cas! I never seen anything like that!" he said.

"That's $15 a head for the steers Joseph. Put it in the book." North brushed off the man's comment. Faith could see him still shaking from the rush of the fight and she went to dig inside her sack of eggs for her handkerchief.

Taking meaning from Cassidy's deflection of his words, Fry hurried to write in his ledger.

Faith had never seen a fight and so wasn't sure of what Fry meant, but she had the feeling that North fought like the people he'd grown up with. He fought like the enemies who had put those scars on his body. She didn't know what to say. His lip was beginning to bulge and one eye looked like it would bruise over. But she reached up to dab carefully at his mouth. He caught her hand.

"It won't help Faith." He said coolly, pushing her away gently.

Then he took the box of goods and started back out the door to the horses.

His words weren't harsh but she felt like crying anyway. In part because it was her fault that he was hurt again and that he wouldn't let her try to attend him. She felt useless.

"Mr. Fry, if you'd cut up two more shirt lengths for me quickly please. I'll sew them for you." she committed.

Outside North was just finishing packing the goods when she came out with her package. He took it without question and stuffed it into a saddle bag then helped her up onto Sheen.

"Northrop." it was Graham who came up with a solemn expression, "You've shook a hornet's nest now. I worry for you."

"Don't." Came the quick response from Cassidy as he pulled himself up into his saddle.

"Here." Graham handed up a tri-folded stack of papers which North took and tucked it inside his pulled open shirt which was now missing a couple of buttons. "You sign that and bring it back."

With no spoken reply, North touched his heels to Rush's flanks and trotted off down the road. Faith could only follow him, casting a worried look over her shoulder at the judge as she trailed behind.

The ride was quiet as they followed the trail. North would lick at the cuts on his lip subconsciously and Faith would press her eyes tightly closed against the burning of tears that threatened to erupt. Would she ever get it right?

"That dress looks right pretty on you."

The words brought her head up, unsure if she had actually heard them. But North was looking at her, his swollen lips making an effort to bow in a smile.

She was sure that Rett Miller couldn't be more stunned than she was at this moment.

"Thank you." she said and blushed.


	6. Chapter 6

**D** **isclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. All original characters and plot are the property of the author. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **Wow I went back and saw so many mistakes! I'll try to go fix those so apologies for what I miss.**

* * *

Faith had put some cinnamon and berries in the cake batter and was mixing up the sheer glaze that would go on top of it. Hesitantly she glanced at the coarse sack of coffee grounds. She hadn't tried to make coffee since they had gotten back from Box Junction and North's comment about giving it up. Maybe she would try again.

* * *

It was well after dark that North got back that night. One of the cows had had a difficult delivery and he had stayed to make sure the mother and calf were in good condition. It was Faith's birthday and he was late getting home. Still he rubbed Rush down and fed him well before starting to the house. His side was still sore, the skin around his eye a deep purple and his lips scabbed. Miller had almost begged for it before and always North had refused to oblige him. But seeing Faith upset it had lit him and he knew he was going to have to call Rett on it. Call all of the Millers. He was certain it was them that'd taken his cattle and he would have to be even more diligent in safeguarding the herd. He was going to have to get some dynamite and blow that pass out. But it was over Faith he couldn't be pushed.

With a sigh he shook the thoughts from his mind as he walked towards the glowing windows of the house that left the porch and yard butter yellow.

The door wasn't quite latched and he pushed the it open, looking in as he heard a cheerful hum floating to his ears. Faith's bun barely holding together and her skirt of the new linen dress drawn up to keep from getting dirty, leaving the underskirt down. Flour chased her sleeves up to her elbows and powdered the tip of her nose.

To a song he'd never heard she moved about the kitchen, distracted enough that she didn't notice him standing there as she pulled something out of the oven, and closed the oven door with her hip and started to stir in a bowl, putting in a pinky and tasting it. It was the most breathtaking thing he'd ever seen and he'd seen silent deserts of dusted snow, immense basins eaten from the earth by ancient oceans, forests of aspen shedding their yellow leaves like gold pieces, and the majesty of the pacific as it threw itself at the sands of California.

Instead of going in to wash his hands and face as he normally did his feet took him softly over her. She noticed him only as he stepped right beside her and put his hand out onto her forearm that held the stirring spoon. A bit startled she looked from his hand to his face as if trying to figure out what might be wrong.

"North…?" she started as he turned her slightly.

She was so much smaller than he and he brought his head down to her as far as he could, slipping his arms around her waist. Then he waited there to see what she'd do.

A flicker of indecision hung about her and he felt her start to lean away. He let his hold on her loosen so that she could move as she liked but she halted.

"The coffee, it'll burn…" Her eyes flitting from his to his mouth which broke into a highly hitched half grin. After a moment she gave her own shy smile and brought her arms up slowly, her fingers lay against his unshaven jaws leaving flour smudges. She tipped her chin up and his chest leaped at the acception. He kissed her and it was as if he'd never kissed anyone else. He couldn't remember anyone besides her.

She folded into him and he wrapped his arms around her tightly.

Even though it wasn't yet night, the dark grey-blue clouds dragged their bellies over the mountain peaks leaving mist and heavy rain and darkness.

The cattle crowded together in an ambiguous grey mass, their heads down, ears flicking the drips of water off. The light would be completely gone in a half an hour and North had yet to finish driving the herd to a fresh grazing spot. Rain poured off front and back of his flat crowned hat. He tucked his chin into the upturned collar of his rain slicker and persisted to push the herd by himself. Then the lightning flashed and some of the cattle spooked erratically. The boom of thunder split the heard and try as he might, North realized there would be no easy working them tonight. He was glad he had insisted Faith stay home, even though she was able to ride better than he had expected. Weather like this could make trouble for even the most skilled rider.

He pushed them to a more favorable area and rode for strays.

When the land was almost pitch black, North finally decided to turn home.

His eyes strained in the dark to make sure they were not close to a muddy hillside or gulch and he pointed Rush home. A close standing cow's hip collided with the toe of his boot and slipped it out of the stirrup. Quickly North felt for it but it was twisted against the animal. Another flicker of lightning and he bent over to adjust it and resettle his foot when the the air was punctured by a blast. It wasn't thunder and the sound of a bullet whining just where he had been sitting straight in the saddle passed over his back.

Instantly he wheeled Rush around and kicked him into a run towards the treeline. Like an angry bee another bullet burned by the back of his neck as he was in motion. Whoever it was on a bluff to his left and could shoot with frightening skill. He could only be aiming by the sliver bursts of light and the sound of Rush's hooves plodding the wet earth.

Lightning flashed again and North was in the trees, grabbing his rifle from its boot and slipping out of the saddle he dove for a fallen log. He felt the vibrations of two more bullets hitting the wood he was sprawled behind. There was a small wash, maybe only large enough for a man to fit in running under the log that was half filled with runoff from the slanted hill the trees grew on. He crawled down into the cold water, careful to keep his rifle out of the flow and worked his way away from the log. He felt his heart beating wildly, pounding in his ears. He should have been dead to rights but he shook the thought away and crawled on his elbows faster.

Up ahead was better cover in some rocks and hopefully the shooter hadn't seen him moving. It was all happening so fast. In the cover of darkness he pulled himself out of the natural canal and behind the rocks barely visible. His breath labored, he forced himself to pull air through his nose and pulled back the hammer then worked the lever before pushing the barrel between two boulders. Only the chorus of the rain and the luwl of the nearby herd filled the night. The next lightning blaze was what was waited for for both he and whomever wanted him dead. He should be able to see that bluff better now but the person may have moved by now.

Faith. What if he were killed?

He took a deep breath to calm himself and put his cheek to the riffle, waiting.

The stab of light in the sky came, flickering over the hills and North saw the wink of fire come from atop the bluff. The bullet hit the rock next to him spitting sharp shards at his face but he had already taken aim and squeezed the trigger.

Then he waited. Falling rain hit the rock and splattered up into his eye making him blink. He wouldn't know if he had hit whomever it was for some time. He could have hit them and they were wounded and waiting for him to move or they were dead. Maybe he had missed completely and they would work their way around to his side. Moving would be the best idea. At best he gathered the shooter would come down the opposite side of the bluff. If he remembered right, there was a cliff that ran along this side for some distance. He waited for the next flare from the sky, taking in all he could of the terrain he would be crossing blindly. There was no shot at him. Getting to his feet he stepped as quietly as he could over the pine needled forest floor. Years of hunting with the Cheyenne directing his movement, his ears tuned to the sounds around him. He cut wide around the bluff, assuming if someone would be coming down they'd hug the face of the rock.

Instantly holding still as stone during the lightning he would glance around straining for any trace of a horse or tracks but the heavy rain would soon erase anything definite. It must have taken two hours but he had learned to be patient, he had lain so for much longer back in the lands around the Washita. He would wait for any game or for a war party of another tribe to move on. Finally he worked his way up to the bluff, soaked to the skin he walked with his rifle raised. Every muscle aching from the exercise, he came to the spot where he thought the shot had come from and waited for the lightning. There was a body on the ground, not lying like a man who is still breathing and warm. Arms flung out and half on his side by a rifle. North looked around once more cautiously, futilely in such dark and pouring rain. He knelt down to roll the man over. It was John, his neighbor who had fed his stock when he was gone.

Staring, he couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe the man had tried to shoot him. Why? It was a question that, clawing at his reason North could not figure out.

He felt the skin of the man's face and neck: cold. It struck North as strange. The man had just been alive just a couple of hours ago, but wet and on the heat seeping ground, it was possible.

He found his horse and loaded the dead man onto it and went home plagued with grief and bewilderment.

Faith had come out to the porch when she heard him stabling Rush, he didn't want her to see the man so he had left his body up on a hill, sheltered with pine boughs. It was late, dinner would be cold. He could do with a hot cup of coffee right now.

In her father's coat she came out to the barn and he explained that the herd had been difficult because of the storm. When he thought of telling her about John, the words came differently than he meant them to. He told her he'd found him dead and nothing about them trading fire. But at the look of horror on her face in the lamplight he decided it was for the best. He had asked her to come out here to live as his wife and he should be able to protect her and provide for her. That meant him staying alive. He did not want to upset her any more by the prospect of becoming a widow.

He sent her back in, telling her he needed to bury the man. Then, with the welcome aid of the lamplight he dug a grave on the hill and started to wrap the man up in a saddle blanket the best he could. In one of John's now rigid fists he noticed dirt had been grabbed. North pried the stiffening fingers open to release the earth and leaves. It was dry. It could not have been grabbed after he was shot on the muddy cliff. A white cigarette stub fell out as well. John smoked, but this was not his paper. Sniffing it North frowned. It was not his kind of tobacco.

He put the stub in his pocket and finished the job. He was very disturbed, it seemed he had shot his friend and his friend had tried to kill him. But now he was even more unsettled, something was not right.

In days to come he would go back up to the bluff and scout the country around it. The heavy rain had wiped clean any tracks. The bullet had gone through and exited but he didn't find the slug.

Faith worked the herd with him some days. She was learning to throw a rope and she wasn't half bad. Rounding the flank of a lagging group Sheen tossed her head and was acting ornery. She even kicked up her heels and would shake often. Faith tried to stroke her neck and talk calmingly to her as she'd seen North do. Sheen settled at length but still she was antsy.

At the end of the day they were back to the barn and Faith was cleaning up the tack while North rubbed down the horses.

"Faith?" She heard him call. "Did you have any trouble with Sheen today?"

Caught at the question, Faith wondered how he would know that, he must have seen the ongoing struggle.

"A little, she acted somewhat strangely, irritated, all afternoon." She kept on at her task.

"Come here." His voice was different, almost heated.

Gingerly she came over to him. Without a word he put his hands under her arms and lifted her up as she faced him. Bewildered at his actions she looked to him worriedly.

"What's wrong?" She asked, grabbing at his sleeves.

"Look." He jerked his head towards the horse.

She turned to look at where he held her by Sheen. It was unmissable. A large open and bleeding sore gaped on the mare's back. Gasping Faith put a hand to her mouth and North sat her down.

"Remember I told you to put the blanket on careful. A wrinkle can do that, rub 'er raw. She's suffer'n now and no good to us for a few days. If it festers it'll be longer." North didn't shout but his words were blunt and forceful.

"I'm so sorry North. I thought I'd checked...I'm so sorry!" She tried to swallow at the abhorrence she felt inside and keep her voice steady. "What can I do?"

His mouth was hard with disappointment, "Just tend her. Keep it clean but don't bother it too much, it's gotta heal over. If it can."

The rest of the day he was fairly quiet but said no more of the sore. Faith felt as though every struggling step she had made in proving herself fit to be here, all her progression had just blown away in this one instant. The chicken dinner was dry she made that night and the coffee sat untouched on the stove. That night she tried to give him space, sleeping as far to the edge of her side of the bed as possible. In the night she was awakened by his arm pulling her closer and his breath brushing at the back of her neck as he slept.

So she stayed around the house, unable to go with North to the pastures. It almost felt like she was being punished which she felt she deserved for such a silly, severe mistake. North had been very quiet and distant since he had buried his friend and Faith knew it had stayed with him. But she couldn't help feeling that he was upset with her.

A while after that he had to go overnight trapping and hunting. She stayed home.

Just after lunch the day North had left Faith did laundry. All she had to wear was her nightgown and over it North's shirt that she had mended before the calf had kicked him, a hole was torn in it again. She had yet to bring herself to re-sew it but would today. Now she knelt over the running surface of the sparkling creek, dipping her hair into the flow, rinsing the suds out. They were almost out of soap and she didn't know how to make any. She was fretting over the dilemma when Lobo began to growl. He had been laying in the sun next to her and now rolled to his belly, head up and alert. Now she heard it too. The encompassing arms of the surrounding mountains trapped sound, amplified it and she could hear hoofbeats. Two...no more than two horses. A sense of foreboding made her shiver and she pushed herself up, hair wet and streaming down her shoulder.

Her heart was pulsing in her throat as she scrambled to the house, her hands muddy. She closed the door and pulled the curtains shut. Cowering behind them she peeked out. Trying to reassure herself she was overreacting, she didn't even know who it was. No one but John had ever come to the house here in the uplands since she had been here. The dust trail showed and over the rise she saw them. Four riders, riding hard and directly for her.

She wanted to hide, crawl under the bed or flee from the house into the woods. But she turned, dragged a chair over to the cupboard and climbed up, shaking hands taking down the shotgun she remember finding that first day there.

The weight she hadn't counted on and she almost dropped it but climbed down quickly. They were almost there. Lightheaded she moved to the door, breathing harshly. She pushed the door open and with effort lifted the hefty gun up.

Now she could see it was the Millers. Rett and Kerr she knew. There was a larger one if that were possible, bigger than a bear in her eyes, he was older, the father she would guess. The last was younger but a scowling, hard eyed brother. Blythe was not with them. All were rough and mean looking.

The laundry hung on the line drying in the front yard. The slight breeze blowing the sheets and garments gently.

The men suddenly pulled up before they got into the yard, obviously seeing her with the gun. They looked to each other, their faces that had been determined and devious were now surprised and annoyed.

Lobo's ferocious bark panged the air sharply and the hair on the ridge of his back bristled.

A low grin spread Rett's face which still had some healing cuts and he sat relaxed in his saddle, "Mighty big gun for a little piece o' fluff like you Mrs. Cas. Where's that cheap fight'n man of yours?"

Faith's arms were feeling the gun's weight but she kept it leveled.

"He's not here. Please don't make me shoot you." No one was more surprised at the steadiness in her voice than she.

The big man wasn't smiling, "I don't have no time for feisty females. You put that thunder aside and git away from the house. We're burning ya down."

Possibly the only reason Faith kept the gun up was because she was paralyzed with fear. But at the man's words a subtle undercurrent was building.

Who were they to come up on this mountain? To tell her to leave so they could destroy everything North had built when he had done nothing to them? He had built this house, the furniture and barn with his bare hands. Invested years in the sun, rain and snow. For _it_ he would come home tired and hungry then go back out the next day for more just to keep _it_. North loved this mountain like it was a part of him and she would not stand by idle while this lot of scoundrels set it on fire.

Now she was angry. Hair tousled, sticking to her face and dripping down her back she took a step forward. "You. Will. Not."

Only low tones of rumbling in Lobo's throat sounded for a moment with the flipping of the sheets in the wind. The posse was taking stock of her and they were hesitating.

Rett looked almost impressed and swung his head to the bigger man, "Told ya she had claws Pap."

Big Lew almost snarled at this son, "Shut up. This here's personal now and we're going to get our payback. He don't belong here and she sure as shoot'n don't belong here. Go back to that city of yours little woman before this country eats you alive."

Shoulders aching and the lumbering, double muzzles of the gun felt like they were getting heavier every second. Faith strained and sweated.

"This is our home. My home. North has worked hard for this land and I won't let you break one blade of grass unless you've figured out how to dodge buckshot." She vowed.

The faces of all the Miller's but Lew had lost their confidence and they looked to him.

His blue eyes narrowed, "You won't shoot. Look atcha! Ain't more than a girl-kid! You're scared!"

Mustering any strength left in her left arm she let go with her right and pulled both hammers back on the 12 gage then slipped her fingers into the crescents of the triggers. "I am not afraid. Believe me Mr. Miller when I say that. I will indeed shoot and if you don't turn your horses around and leave this property, I will not hesitate."

The cluster of men were quiet, but more importantly they were backed down. Lew leaned over the side of his mount and spit brown into the dirt.

Leisurely he turned his horse about, "It ain't over little thing. You jest remember that."

"Go!" She shouted, shattering the tension in the air.

She might as well have shot the gun because the Millers all turned about and kicked their horses into a dead runs. Tears sprung from her eyes, from the ache in her arms and back but also from the release of terror that had been rolling in her stomach like a storm. Still she didn't move until they had long left. Then her legs gave out and she sank to the smooth porch, the nose of the shotgun falling to the floor. She shook and cried. Gasping she wiped at her eyes, scanning the trees, scared that they would come back. Lobo was at the end of the yard, his large, buckram ears forward and alert then after some time they reclined to an eased position and he began to sniff about the ground. They were gone.


	7. Chapter 7

**D** **isclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. All original characters and plot are the property of the author. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

North rode into the yard at dusk the following day. Stars were beginning to appear as he trudged up the front steps after tending Rush and the skins he had gotten. With a haunch of deer in his hand he went into the house. The smell of roasted squash and bread greeted him warmly and Faith came from the bedroom hearing his step.

"Hello how did you make out?*" She asked coming over to him. He thought she was going to embrace him for a moment but she stopped short seeing the freshly sectioned meat.

About to respond, the shotgun caught his eye. It was leaning against the table. Hammers still back.

"Faith. The gun. Was there trouble?" His feet moved to the kitchen but his eyes remained on the gun.

His wife glanced at it nervously but she put on a flickering smile, "No, well the Millers came up."

North went rigid, dropping the meat on the little preparation table.

"Millers...did they come in here? What happened?" He walked over to her, boiling anger and concern flushing his face. His hands still stiff with drying blood kept him from taking her shoulders.

With wide eyes she shook her head, "No, they left. They didn't even come in the yard."

How could he have missed their tracks? They had never come to the house before, it was an emboldened move.

North took up the gun and broke it open, "There's no shells in here."

Faith looked as though she had never considered whether it was loaded or not. So beautifully innocent and dangerously naive. He almost growled at himself for leaving her on her own.

Suspicion had been humming around like a nat in the back of his mind and he had gone up to John's cabin.

It was up higher across the next summit in a little valley of it's own surrounded by aspen and pine.

Vacant now, it still showed signs of the man who had so recently lived there. It was tidy and well kept. Many carefully gathered roots and herbs hung from the rafters. Soundly made woven baskets held beans, nuts, dried berries and other foodstuffs in the well stocked cooking area by the fireplace. Above it, the rifle was gone. Of course North now had it in his possession.

There was a little wooden box on a shelf and North had picked it up and opened it. Yes is was John's tobacco but it smelled nothing like the cigarette he had. The papers were sisal and not rice. Where had he gotten the end of that cigarette? A visitor?

That was when he noticed the skid marks on the dirt floor. The earth was compact but it seemed there had been enough of a disturbance so that some thrashing had scared and grooved it.

North began to look around the little cabin. Then he had seen the flash of the metal from underneath the smoothly made bed. Squatting down he reached under the corner and pulled out a silver disk the size of a coin, ornately engraved. It had a hole in the middle and a rawhide string looped through. On the other end of the string was a tobacco pouch. It was the size to fit in a man's pocket, the disk would hang out for one to easily pull it out. Burned into the flesh of the pouch were the initials: BM. He didn't even need to see that though. He'd seen Blythe Miller pull that pouch out multiple times.

So it was murder. Murder just to make it look like they had shot each other? It would have made it neat and clean. He would be out of the way. The land would surely go to them as Faith would have nothing to stay for? Not on her own.

He'd have to ride into town and tell Cecil. No, Cecil had mentioned he was going for two months to San Antonio. Could he really leave the property now anyway? The law from Henryville would have to be contacted. How could he get word to them? Send Faith to town with a letter? He dismissed the idea, sure Rett Miller would bother her. How was it he always seemed to be in town when North was?

Now standing in his house he knew what they must have tried to do and Faith had stopped them. He wanted to sweep her up and praise her for her courage. For her to back down the Millers must have been something to see indeed. But then he knew what could have happened, what they might have done and he was worried again. What could he do? Take her with him everyday? It was impractical. She had to tend to things here sometimes and he had to be out there sometimes 18 hours a day or more.

Despite his soiled hand he put it on her shoulder and gave her a faint smile.

"I'd better wash up. Pretty dirty. We got soap?" He went past her to the bedroom where they kept the soap by the washbin.

"A bit." Came the soft reply.

* * *

A week later Sheen's back had healed sufficiently. There would remain a scar, a discoloring of her fine coat and every time Faith looked at it she'd have to close her eyes and scoff almost painfully at her own foolishness.

Now, after the Millers had come to their homestead, North had her ride out with him a lot more. He always brought the shotgun, his rifle and sixshooter.

The sun was setting, a cooler than normal breeze was welcome after the long hot day in the meadow pastures. Faith had gone out with him to the cattle and the herd had seemed twice as big and twice as troublesome.

She had finished helping settle the horses and North was examining the beltline if the gun holster that seemed ready to be replaced. She carried a gunny sack with what was left of their lunch and her book she took just in case she had a chance to read. Starting to the house she was tired but had to see to dinner.

"Faith, take the colt and set it on the bed. I gotta mend this leather." North pulled the gun from the holster and handed it to her carefully.

Shifting the sack to her other hand she took it with her stronger right for the gun must have weighed at least 4 pounds. North cleaned and oiled it and the other guns often. Keeping a them in good condition was vital.

Wearily Faith started out of the barn for the house. She had made a sunbonnet from her old dress and the wind kept blowing the brim into her face. She brushed at it awkwardly with her left hand.

The gun suddenly leaped, the sound deafening. Somehow she still clutched it clumsily. The ring of the misfire echoed against the mountains around and Lobo bolted from the barn barking. Right behind him was North, the rifle to his shoulder and ready. He scanned the area only for a moment then looked to her. She stood there looking stupidly at the smoking gun in her hand wondering where the bullet had gone.

"What…?" was all she could say.

Instantly North was next to her, snatching the pistol from her fingers and then searching over her. There was abnormal fear in his eyes, "Did you get hit? Are you shot?"

If she was she had yet to feel any pain and she shook her head, "I don't think so. I'm alright."

North's face set and his lips tightened. He took her by the wrist and moved her aside. A crater in the earth practically under her right foot told of where the bullet had implanted itself. There was a burnt groove in the leather of her boot.

Pushing himself to standing, her husband shoved the gun into his waistline.

"I'm sorry it just went off…" She stammered.

Dropping his head he took a deep breath, his hands on his hips as if struggling to calm himself, "You're sorry? What have I told you about be'n mindful with it?"

Faith didn't reply, she couldn't think of what to say. He'd told her so many times to be careful.

She could hear the real anger in his voice. "What if you had shot your foot off?! Then what good would you be?!"

He had scolded her about Sheen's back that one time but he had never shown anger towards her. His words shook her. They shook the world around her and made it crumble. She had to look away, but didn't cry. Perhaps she was still in shock at the situation.

"I'm sorry North." She uttered.

He ran both hands through his hair roughly in exasperation. "Go in the house."

Numbly she obeyed and somehow her body started dinner.

He didn't come in until she had everything on the table was sitting there waiting for him. He

washed with no soap then sat down, his face stony. Putting his elbows on the table he pinched the bridge of his nose.

She didn't know what to say to him so she took his cup and filled it with...coffee? Had she made that? Faith couldn't' remember doing it. It smelt sour and looked as though it were separating into granules and an oily slick. Meekly she sat it next to his plate anyway.

When he didn't say anything she spoke, "North…"

His hand moved smoothly and deliberately, knocking the cup from the table and spilling it onto the floor.

Faith jumped at the sound and stared at the rolling cup until it settled. The house was quiet for a moment. Biting her lip as if to keep the tidal wave of emotions from breaking loose she made as if to stand to go get a cloth.

"Don't." North said placidly, staring into the table. "I'll see to it."

Faith looked at him, her heart bursting and she couldn't stay still. She stood and hurried into the bedroom. She took her boots off and slipped under the quilt, pulling it up over her head.

* * *

North let his head fall into his hands. His heart hadn't stopped pounding since the shot had cracked the air. Pounding in his chest and head. He had been waiting for that shot. Waiting to feel the bullet go through his body somewhere. But it hadn't and it had struck him with a fear far worse. Faith. They'd shot her.

The relief at her being alright had been short lived. He loved her. So much that he barely knew himself. The thought of her hurt...gone struck him with unfamiliar panic. Everything, the loss of those cattle, the confrontations with the Millers, the life changing experience of being so quickly married had finally broke his composure.

He had lost his temper.

Even with six older brothers, he had prefered to be alone. It was safe ground and he always knew where he stood with himself. He could rely on himself and knew what he had to lose.

Marriage had never been something he'd aspired to. It was fine for some but it seemed more trouble than it was worth.

Why had he let Cleve talk him into such a thing? Maybe it was some loneliness he had refused to acknowledge for sometime. He had rejected his family's inquiries about 'settling down' for years. He _was_ settled and he liked it how it was. That had changed practically overnight.

He rode in from the herd and looked at the dark cold house and suddenly felt desolate. Yes it was his home he had built, but there was no heart there, not really.

There were little enough women around and he never had sparked with one anyway. And so he lived that way for a while until his closest aged brother had come out on a visit with a letter. It described vaguely a situation involving an 'comely' eastern girl 'of age'. A shallow description that even now wouldn't have really done Faith justice. It told of her love for books and music, she almost sounded like a mythical creature. Foreign and fantastic. But he had almost been insulted that his brother would suggest such a thing. He knew little of love but he knew you had to have it first before you should bind yourself to a woman.

His brother had left the letter when he returned to California. The letter sat on the table every night and he read and reread it. Something had taken to root in him and one day he found himself writing a crude letter back to his brother saying to fix it up. Then it was done.

North realized now he wasn't afraid of being alone, he was afraid of being without Faith.

The fire was low after he had cleaned up the untouched food and scrubbed the floor where he had so childishly tossed his fit.

Nervously he went into the dark room. Moonlight shown on the still figure of her laying in the bed. He undressed to his night clothes and laid down. He wasn't angry with her, he never had been. He had been angry with himself and his insufficiency in caring for her. No, she hadn't deserved his temper and he surely didn't deserve her.

Scooting over, he moved the hair away from her tear stained cheek. He almost groaned in dismay at himself.

"I'm sorry Faith, I'm sorry I'm sorry." He whispered to her. She didn't stir so he fell back into his pillow and waited for sleep to numb him.

* * *

When Faith awoke the sun was barely defining the trees outside in a ghostly blue. She heard his footsteps come around the bed and she quickly closed her eyes again. North stood there next to the bed for some minutes. She felt him move the hair from her face and put his hand on her shoulder, "Faith?" he said quietly.

She didn't answer. She didn't know if he really thought she was asleep or knew she was keeping silent on purpose.

"I'm out to pasture." he said after a long pause, the warmth of his hand leaving her as he walked away. The door closed and soon she heard Rush gallop away.

The creek babbled and the grasses in the meadow rubbed against themselves in a hushing rustle. The meadowlark's song carried it's sweet tones to Faith's ears but she could no longer hear the beauty of it.

It was time to give up. North's words had seeped into her dreams. ' _What good would you be?'_ His cup of coffee clanking to the floor. She had tried and tried but she _was_ useless.

She was as good as the coffee she made. Something North choked down because he had to. Lew Miller was right, she didn't belong here and she must remedy it while she still could.

Arising, she dressed, put her hair up and made up the blankets carefully. Then from under the bed she took out her valse and began to pack. Her books, brush and other things she had brought. Faith stopped herself as she almost put the shawl and comb that he had given her on their wedding day in as well. She smoothed the white linen and sat it on the bed then placed the comb on it carefully. No, she wouldn't take them. They were for someone who could do much better for North than she had. Glancing at the blue dress that she hadn't worn since they had gone to Box Junction she decided to leave it as well. He could get his money back. She took out the shirts she had made for Mr. Fry as well and sat them alongside. They may cover some of the dress she had to wear.

About to close the trunk, she was met with the sight of the colt. It hadn't been cleaned which was unlike her husband, North.

With a shaking hand she picked it up, five shots still in the chambers of the drum. Impulsively she put it on the bed by her bag. Below that was a fold of leather with North's cash money and some silver coins. She would have to have something. He had offered to pay for her way home that first day. Faith would take the fare now and she pocketed $30.

Then she felt the ring, still on the string around her neck, the weight of the gold loop warmed by her skin. A sharp intake of air filled her lungs and she hurried to remove it. She laid it down on the shawl next to the comb but for a moment thought of taking it with her. It was something of him she could keep. She did not want to forget him, she doubted she could. But no, it wouldn't be right.

Taking up her things, she carried the gun carefully and went to the barn. Quickly she saddled Sheen and affixed her valse. Then she filled her canteen and climbed up astride the horse.

She closed her eyes as she went by the house, about to kick Sheen into a gallop. But she stopped and forced her eyes to view it one last time.

Suddenly she was out of the saddle, running back to the door and into the bedroom. Snatching up the ring she left again. This time for good.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. All original characters and plot are the property of the author. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **Here is where the story joins with LL's short story and there will be some word for word. I was going to skip doing this but I think it explains why I decided to add to the story. I hope it's not offensive because that is exactly opposite of what I was hoping to portray.**

* * *

When Faith reached the waterhole at Rustler Springs, she knew she had missed the trail.

North had explained about the short cut across the mountains to Dry Creek Station, and had advised she take it if anything happened to him. But he had warned her about riding near the junipers or stopping at Rustler Springs.

The cool, lushness of the mountains with its springs and fertile meadows were nothing like what she now rode through. It was not the prairie she remembered that surrounded Henryville, This was desert, dry, sweltering and forsaken. She had seen some of it from the window on the train but now she rode through it alone,

By retracing her trail she might discover the turnoff she had missed, but if she delayed any more it would be long after dark before she reached the stage station.

The logical move would be to return to the house and make a fresh start at day break, as soon as North had left again. Yet if she returned now she might never again muster the nerve to leave him. And she had already been too much trouble to North.

While Sheen drank of the cool water, Faith slid from the saddle and tried dripping up a drink in the palm of her hand. The swallow of water was unsatisfactory and all she succeeded in doing was getting her face wet and spilling water on her dress. It was somehow symbolic of all her failures since coming west.

When she got to her feet there was a man standing at the edge of the brush with a rifle cradled in his arms. How long he had been there she had no idea, but suddenly she was keenly aware of the utter loneliness of the spot and that not even North knew where she was. And her only weapon was the pistol in her saddlebag.

The man was thin and old with white hair and the coldest eyes she had ever seen looking from a human face. Tiny wrinkles wove a pattern of harsh years across the sun darkened patina of his skin. It was a narrow face, high in the cheekbones...a hawk's face except for the blunted nose.

His blue shirt was faded, his jeans worn. Only the narrow brimmed hat was new.

He did not speak, merely stared at her and waited.

"I missed the shortcut." She was surprised that she could speak so calmly, "I was going to Dry Creek Station."

HIs eyes left her face for the valse behind her saddle.**

"You're Cassidy's woman." he said then. His voice was thin and dry.

Her chin lifted and her hand went just below her neck where the ring was beneath her dress. "His wife."

"Quitt'n him?"

Resentment flared. "It's none of your business."

"Don't blame you for bein' skeered."

"It's not that!" she protested. "It's not that at all."

His eyes had grown old in the reading of trail sign and motives of men and women.

She did not lie. Something other than fear was driving her. He could sense the bitterness in her, the sense of failure and the hurt.

He head jerked toward the south. "Cabin's over there," he said, "and coffee's on."

Afterward she was to wonder why she followed him. Perhaps it was to show him she was not afraid, or it might have been hesitation to cross that last bridge that would take her from this country and the promise it had held for her.

The cabin was old but neat. There were bunks for several men, empty of bedding save one. The bed was neatly made and the few utensils were clean and hung in place.

Filling two enamel cups he placed one before her. Testing the coffee she felt envy for the first time. For this had been her greatest failure. At least illogically, despite everything that had happened, it was the failure she was most miserable about.

She had only been here for nigh four months and only now was she finally being honest with herself that she could never make it right. Somehow she had known all along she was not cut out to be here, why had she stayed? Because of the hope of a new life? Because of North? Never had she felt he needed her, then why would she stay for him?  
"Surprised you'd take out on your man." the old man said, "Didn't figure you for skeered after you throwed down on Big Lew with that shotgun."

She looked up, surprised at his knowledge. "But why should he frighten me?" she lied remembering the overwhelming fear that had drowned her that day but then added, "Besides, the shotgun wasn't loaded."

His cold eyes glinted with what might have been humor. That'll jolt Lew. You had him right buffaloed."

He pushed the coffeepot back on the fire. "Took nerve. Lew ain't no pilgrim. He's killed hisself a few men."

"He really has?"

"Three, maybe four." He stoked his pipe, glancing out of the corners of his eyes at her face.

She was small, drawing in her features and something to look at.** Her body, while a beautifully shaped woman's body, seemed almost too small, too childlike for this country. Yet his mother had been a small woman, and she had borne ten children in a rugged, frontier community. "If you ain't skeered, why you take'n' out?" Then his eyes crinkled at the corners and he said wryly, "but I forgit. That ain't none of my business."

"I'm no good to him." She looked up, her storm-cloud hued eyes wide. "He needs someone who can help. All I do is make trouble for him."

The old man looked thoughtfully at his pipe. Her presence with that shotgun had prevented Big Lew and the Millers from burning the ranch/house. That had been their purpose in going to the uplands.

Little by little her story came out. Her father's long illness had absorbed their savings, and after his death it had come out that he had been involved in some questionable business dealings. Before that there had been more than one prospect of marriage for her. But after it had become known, no one in Philadelphia would have her. So she had become a mail-order wife. Northrop Cassidy had needed a wife, and when she got off the train and saw the tall, silent young man she had felt a queer quiver of excitement. He needed a wife and she needed a home. It had been as simple as that. They had not talked of love.

"In love with him now?"

The question startle her for she had not given it a thought.

Suddenly she realized, shocking as it was… "Yes, she acknowledged. "I am."

The old man said nothing then, and she watched the shadows of the trees on the ground outside the cabin. She remembered North's face when he had come home the night before the horrible event of yesterday. The something in his eyes when he saw her. Had it been relief? Contentment? What?

He refilled her cup. "Will quittin' give you rest? And how will he feel when he comes home tonight?"

She stifled the pang. "He's better off without me."

"Nothin' nice about comin' home to an empty house. You told him you love him?"

"No."

"He told you?"

"No."

"Wrong of him. Knowed a sight of women, here 'n there. Tell 'em you love 'em, pet 'em a mite, do something' unexpected nice time to time an' they'll break their necks for you."

The cottonwoods brushed their pale green palms together, rustling in the still, hot afternoon. "I wish I could make coffee like this."

"Not's good as usual." She noticed how the rifle lay where he had placed it, across the corner of the table, pointing a finger at the door. "Helps to have hot coffee when a man gets to home."

He leaned back in his chair and lighted his pipe again. "He know you're gone?"

"No."

"If them Millers come back they could burn him out. And him coutnin' on you."

"They won't come back."

His reply was a snort of contempt for such ignorance. "This here's a war, ma'am. It's a fight for range...and you're the only one your man's got on his side...and you quittin'."

"I'm no good to him. I can't do any of the things a wife should do out here."

"You can be home when he gets there. No man likes to stand alone. It's a sight of comfort for a man to know he's fightin' for something."

When she remained silent he said quietly, "They figure to have him killed, them Millers do."

"Killed?" She was shocked. "Why, the law…"

He looked at her, cold-eyed. "A man carries his law in his holster in this country. Them Millers don't want no part of Northrop Cassidy themselves. They hire their killin' done when it's somebody like him. That man of yours" the old man got to his feet, "is plumb salty."

He was suddenly impatient. "You ain't only a wife. You're a pardner, and you're quittin' when he needs you most."

He started for the door. "No need to go back to Six-shooter Gap. There's a trail back of here that old Stockton used. You stay shut of the Junipers and hold to the trail. It'll take you right to the stage station. You'll hit it near Little Dry."

She did not move. "Will you teach me how to make coffee like that?"

Lobo came bounding at her, tongue out and yipping welcomingly when she rode into the yard. The night was coming on, bringing with it deep blue sky against the black outline of the peaks. North was not back, and she hurriedly stripped the saddle from Sheen. Then, she gave the mare a good rubdown.

Quickly she put the shirts, the dress, the shawl and comb away and replaced the colt and the money, as if erasing her latest mistake before it could be discovered.

An hour later, her second batch of coffee hot and ready, she watched North ride into the yard. When she thought of how she had nearly failed to be here to greet him she felt a queer little wretch of shame. She stood there in the door, seeing him suddenly with new eyes.

This was the man she loved. This man, this tall, narrow-hipped man with the quiet face and the faintly amused eyes. His bronzed hair glinting in the light as he stepped into the door light. But there was no amusement in his eyes now. They were shadowed with worry.

"North...what's wrong?"

He looked at her suddenly, as if detecting a new ring in her voice. Before he had always brushed off her questions, assuring her everything would be alright.

"Joseph came up to the herd today, told me somethin'. Old man Miller has hired a man. A killer."

She caught his arm. "North? For you?"

He nodded, closing the door. He took off his hat and started for the wash basin and cleansed his hands, neck and face. What he had not told Faith was that Blythe Miller was dead. He had been shot. His family said it was a hunting accident but North knew, somehow, that he had been the one shooting at him the night of the storm. And that when he had returned fire, he had hit him.

Then he smelled the coffee and saw the cup freshly poured. He examined it like it was a strange, unknown object of wonderment. Even with all he had just told her it occupied his attention.

He sniffed it then looked up at her. "Mine?"

She nodded, almost afraid for him to try it. Such a little thing, yet it had been a heavy burden against her.

He dropped into the chair and she saw the sudden weariness in his face.

"A man named Bud Shaw. He's already here."

He tasted the coffee gingerly, then drank.

"You've seen him?"

"Not around here." He stared into the cup with genuine surprise widening his eyes then he took another drink. "I saw him in El Paso once, when I first came west. He's a known man."

"But he kills for money? They can really hire men to kill someone?"

"This is a hard country, Faith, and there's a war for range. Men hire out to fight as they join armies of other countries. I don't know as I blame 'em much."

Faith was indignant. "But to kill for money! Why, that's murder!"

North looked up quickly. "Yes, if they dry-gulch a man. Bud Shaw won't do that. He'll meet me somewhere, unexpected-like, and I'll have my chance." He got up. "I shouldn't be telling you this. The country's rough on womenfolks."

He glanced at his empty cup. "Say, how about some more coffee?"

Faith felt elated at the request that she never thought she'd hear.

For a long time she lay awake. How like a little boy he looked! In the vague light from the moon she could see his face against the pillow, his hair tousled, his breathing even and steady. Suddenly, on impulse, she touched his cheek. Almost frightened, she drew her hand back quickly, then slid deeper under the heavy old quilt. She lay there her eyes wide and her heart beating fast.

When breakfast was over and he had picked up his rifle, she stopped him. "North...teach me to load the shotgun."

He looked around at her and for an instant their eyes held. Suddenly his cheeks flushed. He turned back and picked up the shotgun, but his eyes avoided hers. Carefully, he showed her how the shotgun functioned, then at the door, he pointed.

"See that white rock? If they come here again, stop 'em beyond that. If they come closer...shoot."

She nodded seriously, and he looked at her again, trust in his haunted eyes, he gripped her shoulder hard. "You'll do, Faith." he said quietly, his voice shaken, "You'll do."

She was sitting where she could see out the door and down the trail when she heard the horse. She got up quickly and put her sewing aside. Heart pounding, she went to the door.

It was a lone man, riding a mouse-gray horse. A shabby old man , but he wore a neat, narrow-brimmed hat.

He stopped at the edge of the woods and sat his horse there, one hand on the rifle, watching the door. He let his eyes drift slowly over the place, but she had a curious feeling that he was watching her, too, all the time his gaze wandered.

Then he let the horse walk forward and when he stopped he looked at her. "Howdy ma'am. Mind if I git down?"

"Please do." He swung down, then leaving his horse ground-hitched, he walked up to the door.

"Passin' by to Box Junction," he said, "and i reckoned I'd try some of that there coffee."

When he was seated she poured a cup, and watched his expression anxiously. He tried it, tasted it again, then nodded.

"A mite more coffee, ma'am if you got it."

He looked around the neat little cabin, then out over the yard. The corrals were new and well built, the cabin was solidly constructed and the stable was no makeshift.

"Seen anything of Big Lew Miller?"

"No." She looked at him briskly. "Look, did you ever hear of a man named Bud Shaw? He's a killer. A man with a gun for hire."

The old man touched his moustache thoughtfully. "Bud Shaw? The name seems sort of familiar." He looked up at her, his eyes veiled and cold. "A killer you say? Where did you hear that?"

"North told me today. Oh, he said that this man Bud Shaw was different than some, that he'd give a man a chance before he killed him. But I don't think that matters.

"Look" she leaned toward him, "you know outlaws. If you didn't, you wouldn't be living at Rustler's Springs. At least, North says that's a hangout for them. If you knew how I can meet with Bud Shaw and talk to him, I wish you'd fix it up."

He drank coffee then rolled a smoke. She watched his slim brown fingers, almost like a woman's. Not one shred of tobacco spilled on the floor. When he had touched his tongue to the cigarette he looked around her, "What you want to see him for?"

She had a notion of talking to him. No man could be so cruel as to...well, it wasn't right to shoot people, and North was a good man, only trying to build a home. That's all. And he wanted a family, and she was explaining all this when he interrupted.

"I take it you've changed your mind about runnin' off?"

She flushed. "I...I must have been mad. He does need me. You believe that, don't you? I mean...you think he really does?"

At the last her voice was pleading.

"A man needs a woman. No man is right without one, believe me. And with Northrop it's got to be the right woman. He's that kind of man."

"But you said you didn't know him?"

"I don't. Not rightly, I don't. But folks hear things." His voice was suddenly sour. "Lady, Northrop Cassidy won't kill easy. Not for Bud Shaw or nobody. Why do you reckon the MIllers ain't killed him? There's four Millers. Why ain't they done it?"

He struck a match and lighted his smoke. "The Millers tried it but there was five of them, then. Your husband killed one MIller and put the other one out for ware after that fight o' theirs. Put 'im weeks in a mend'n bed."

North had killed a man. somehow the fact was not so shocking as it might have been a day or two before. Probably that was why he hesitated to condemn even a hired killer.

The old man got to his feet. "I'm driftin', ma'am See you sometime."

"Wait." She went to the cupboard and hurriedly took down a pan of biscuits. "I just baked these, and some bread. Take them along." She took a brown loaf from the cupboard and put it with the biscuits into a sack. "That is one thing I can do!" Her chin lifted a little. "I can bake bread."

The old man looked at her thoughtfully. "Thanks, ma'am. I appreciate this. First time anybody has given me anything for a long time."

"And don't' forget, you promised to come over and teach me how to make soap."

He actually smiled. "Sure enough, I did at that."  
When he was gone she looked down the trail again. And returning to her chair, resumed her work.

It was almost dusk when she saw the rider. For an instant she was sure it was North. And then he vanished into the trees. Quickly, she got up, closed the window shutters and got the shotgun. Then she put out the light and waited. It was not yet dark outside and she could see clearly.

A long time later a soft rustle outside the window cause her shotgun to lift. A man rounded into the door and her finger was tightening on the trigger when she recognized North.

Frightened, she got to her feet. "Oh North! I might have shot you!"

He glanced at her, his eyes wary. "You're alone?"

"Why...of course! Who would be here?"

He walked into the bedroom mindfully, and looked around. When he returned to the kitchen he paused as if sensing something.

"Somebody scouted the place today. A man ridin' a small horse."

Faith started to explain, then caught herself. If she told him about the friendly old man then she must explain how they had met, and that she had planned to leave North. No man would have come up through the uplands without knowing about it from her or North.

To let him know that she had already abandoned him she could not bring herself to do. Not now.

He was watching her, an odd look in his eyes. Her hesitation had aroused his doubts.

"It must have been a mistake." She said guiltily, "I saw no one."

Her voice trailed off, but she knew she was a poor liar. North dropped into a chair and looked at her, frowning a little. To avoid his eyes she hastily began to put food on the table, and the, desperately, tried to open a conversation. Somehow her words trailed off into nothing.

Each time there eyes met, North deliberately looked away.

"North...what's wrong?" she just wanted him to say it. Say he knew she wasn't being truthful.

He did not meet her eyes. He got up. "Nothin'. Just tired I guess."

At daylight she was up and she got breakfast, her heart tight and cold within her. North said nothing, only once when he finished combing his hair and turned away from the glass their eyes met. His face looked drawn and lonely. Faith longed to run to him and…

"You be careful," he said, sitting down at the table. "Don't let anybody in here. The MIllers...they might try anything."

"Have you seen that other man?"

"Shaw?" He shook his head, watching her fill his cup. "No. He's the one worries me. That was no Miller horse that I tracked. That Shaw...he might try anything. All a man knows is that he'll be where he's least expected."

As he ate, North felt numb. The tracks had come from the shortcut from the desert. He had followed them right up to the door just as bold as you please and he knew Faith hadn't been riding from the look of Sheen. Then in the house he'd smelt the echo of burnt tobacco. She's lying. He knew it. It was plain as could be. He would understand if someone was in the house, threatening her not to speak. But why would she deceive him now? He could not come up with an answer and it tortured him. Yet he couldn't bring himself to ask her straight out. Oddly enough, he didn't know what he was more baffled and distracted by, her lying or the suddenly delicious coffee she had spontaneously taken to making. Still, a feeling of danger lingered with him and he felt he had only himself to rely upon, again.

He waited inside the door for a long time before he went out to the barn. He stood there just studying the place, the trees, the hills. Reluctantly he stepped out, and then move to the stable, flattened against the wall, then went in.

Faith waited breathless for him to emerge. When he came out he took a quick look towards the house.

He did not trust her. Faith knew that now. He believed...but what could he believe?

Suddenly she started out. "North!" She ran towards him letting herself slam into him and putting her arms around his neck. "Don't go!"

He hesitated, then put an arm around her back and his other hand into the cool strands of her hair, "Work to be done. If I hide today, what about tomorrow, and the next day? I can't hide all the time. I got to go on."

The old man came again to the house, just before sundown. And he was walking, carrying his inevitable rifle. He came up to the door and waited until she saw him from the barn where she was churning butter.

"Ma'am I got to talk to you."

"You'd better go away." Faith's small face was stiff with worry. "North saw your tracks. He...doesn't trust me."

"You told him about me? You described me?" he asked quickly.

"No I told him I had seen no one. He didn't believe me."

"I got to come inside ma'am, right away. I got to get out of sight."

She looked at him, saw the queer tightness in his parchment like skin. She hesitated only a moment then stepped aside. "You'll help us?"

"I'll help you."

"Against Bud Shaw too?"

He looked at her wryly, "Yes." He said. "Even against him."

Then they heard the horse. A lone horse and he was coming fast. From somewhere a shot sounded, then a volley. Then another shot.

The old man swore viciously. He started forward then shrank back.

Rush came charging over the hill, North hunched over and clinging to the saddle horn. He half fell from the horse as it was still moving when he got to the yard. With a start of horror, Faith saw the blood on his shirt and face, blood on his sleeve. He lunged, tripped on the step, and then before she could move to help him he scrambled for the door.

"Faith!" his voice was hoarse, "The shotgun! They're comin'!"

He grasped the door edge and half turned and then he saw the man standing by the table.

Faith saw a sudden stillness come over his face, a strange coolness. His one good hand, his left, halted above the gun in his waistband. The butt was turned for a right hand draw...it was an awkward chance.

"Hello Bud." North's quiet words were carried by his painful panting.

Faith cried out, a stabbing little cry and she put her hands to her mouth.

"Hello Northrop." The man's two side guns were untied.

His cold eyes needling North.

"Go ahead." North said bitterly. "You've given me my chance. I'm ready."

Bud Shaw looked at the wounded man on one knee in front of him and nodded gravely, "Sure you are Northrop. I knew that. You'd always be ready."

There was only the sound of North's irregular gulps of air, the creek and the birds chirping cheerfully outside. Somewhere came the slow movement of approaching horses with cautious riders.

"You're a lucky man Cassidy." Bud said quietly, "You've got a game wife, a fine wife."

Slowly then, with conscious and obvious deliberation he turned and went out the door. He stopped on the porch with his feet wide.

North's eyebrows knitted behind the hair that had fallen forward into his eyes and sweat dripped down his neck. He had watched the hired killer who was to hunt and bring him down walk past him and he was bewildered.

They heard the horses coming, coming on then they heard them stop.

North swung his head to stare at Faith, searching for any explanation but she seemed in shock staring after Shaw. Then he leaned in passed the door to put his hand to the shotgun. She could see the blood on his sleeve, reddening his right hand.

"All right Lew." it was Bud Shaw speaking, "You can stop right there."

"Never knowed you for a turncoat Bud." Big Lew spoke carefully.

"I told you I was through." Bud spoke reasonably, "I told you plain."

"You said nothin' 'bout switchin' sides."

"Well then. Hear it now. If you want to know why I'll tell you. Two things made me switch. Four yellow bellies that had to hire their killin', and then dry-gulch a lone man. That was only part of it."

They could see him standing there, a slight old man, his shoulders thin under the worn shirt. He had left his rifle inside and stood there with the two sixguns on his belt facing them.

"The other thing was a little lady who wanted nothin' so much as to make good coffee for her man. I figured the man that little lady could love was too much of a man to be shot down for a pack of coyotes."

Lew Miller's voice was harsh, "We won't take that talk Bud! Not even from you!"

"You'll take it…" the old man's voice was dry with patience and disgust, "you'll take it and I more than half wish you wouldn't."

He stood there like that in the gathering dusk and watched them ride away.

When Faith moved close to North and put her arm around him, she did not know, but she was there when the old man turned back to the door.

"Light the light Faith," he said gently, "and let's have a look at that shoulder."


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. All original characters and plot are the property of the author. No copyright infringement is intended.**

* * *

A couple weeks ago-

Rio de Negro was a busy town even without the railroad going through it. Named after a river that cut through the desert and the buildings were built along side of it. Night had come some time ago and there were few out but a group of three riders shuffling into town.

The three Millers lined up their horses in front of the local water hole called the 'Saltbox'. All grave in their dusty faces. Rett, Kerr and baby August as they called him went in and moved to the bar.

The place had a reputation. It was poorly lit but fairly crowded. Newspapers that had been pasted up for wall paper were yellowed and peeling. The chairs and tables mismatched and scuffed. Most the bottles lined up on the rickety shelving behind the querulous barkeep looked to be refilled with who knows what coffin varnish. Jolly music came from a piano that sorely needed tuning.

They ordered their drinks which came curtly and in unpolished glasses.

Rett leaned over with a frown to the girthy bartender, "We're look'n for a man to do a job."

The tender raised an uninterested eyebrow. "Men all over this town, I reckon one of them needs a job."

"I mean a particular job." Rett's voice was sullen and he knocked back his drink in one go.

The bartender squinted at him in understanding, his eyes darting around the gathering. They settled in the extreme back of the saloon and he nodded in the direction.

"Gentleman down there in the corner. He's known to do jobs in particular. Name's Shaw."

"Bud Shaw?" August snapped his head around to look and Kerr elbowed his brother sharply.

"Shut up Gus!" he hissed.

There were a few who glanced over at them critically. Rett pushed by his brothers and started to walk towards the figure in the corner. As he approached, the shadowed man seem to get smaller. Sitting under a low burning wall lamp, the man lounged, a rifle sitting suggestively on the table with its muzzle pointed toward the room. He was older with what must have been a difficult life impressed into the hollows face. His hair and mustache were silver white and he picked up his glass with his left hand, his right close and ready to the rifle.

He said nothing as Rett came over to his table. Their luck couldn't have been better. They had hoped to find someone willing and able to take on the task but here was a man who had years of experience in just this kind of thing.

Rett stuck his hand out, "Mr. Shaw, my name's Miller. I'm from over Box Junction way."

Shaw made no move to reciprocate a handshake and just looked up at him with needling dark eyes.

At the cold response Kerr and Gus glanced at each other nervously but Rett set his jaw and dropped his hand.

"I have a little problem I was hoping to get some help with. Seems you're the man to go to." Rett shifted his weight impatiently.

Shaw took another drink, "Not really look'n to get into any problems Box Junction."

Swallowing the irritation, Rett wasn't going to give up, "This here's a business deal sir. Can I set?"

After a moment, Shaw shrugged, "Keep yer hands where I can see 'em."

All three Millers took out chairs and lined the table.

"Now Mr. Shaw, I've got a spread 'o ranch'n land and look'n to expand. There's a nice piece we cotton to but it has a mulehead on it that don't want to sell. Let's just say we're done negotiatin'."

The slight old man had been rolling himself a cigarette giving no sort of reaction to any of Miller's words.

Rett frowned at the lack of interest and he looked at his brother's who shared his frustration.

Kerr glanced at the seat beside the man where an old hat sat. Whatever color it had started out being it was faded and blotchy now with years of wear. Browns and greys. The brim was narrow and torn and the crown had holes in it.

"Mr. Shaw," Kerr slouched in his chair, "We're, of course, gonna pay for your-time."

Shaw looked like he needed it. From his clothing to his boots he looked washed up. The only thing that looked polished and cared for, although still well worn, was his rifle.

The old man raised an wiry eyebrow, "You young fella's don't look like yer arms are painted on. You can't get one roach out on your own?"

Rett's face tensed, his lips pressing together. "Northrop Cassidy ain't no easy rabbit to skeer off mister."

"Burn 'im out, muscle him." suggested Shaw, the tip of his smoke glowing as it disintegrated.

August scoffed, "We tried that. He's got that little wife o' his guard'n the place, tote'n a shotgun taller'n her end to end…purtiest mite of skirt too...lips like a gil fish..."

Shifting his jaw angrily Rett shot his younger brother a warning look, "Cinch it Gus. You just never mind about her. Don't want her harmed none. Just want Cas' taken care of quick 'n clean."

Bud Shaw's eyes slipped up to the room, as did his interest from their dilemma it would seem, "Don't sound like a man worth the lead iff'n he has his woman do his fight'n for 'im."

Temper flaring Rett leaned forward, "He ain't no easy push out!"

"Whooped Rett here in a fist fight like a savage, look at his face! Rett was in bed for nigh half month! Had to call in a doctor special…" Spilt August.

Kerr leaned into August, grabbing the bandana of his neck and jerking it, "You talk anymore Gus and you're gonna need a doctor special…"

Shaw just looked amused at the brothers and Rett gritted his teeth, "Cassidy shot'n kilt our other brother mister and I wanna see him in the dirt. Now I'll pay you handsome for the job. $370'll buy you a decent hat. You interested or do I move onto someone more spry with some grit?"

Taking the stub of his cigarette and pinching it out with his fingers Shaw let out a long sigh through his nose. "I want half up front."

* * *

The shirt removed and the wound cleaned, Shaw took up some length of material Faith had cut for bandages.

"Bullet went straight through. Now you want to keep it clean, you got any rye about for the hurt'n?" he said as he bound up North's shoulder.

"Don't take spirits." North said, flinching at the movement.

Shaw raised an eyebrow but nodded, "Alright. Don't be shift'n around for a few days. I've gotta go out 'n find my horse. Left 'im in the timber."

Faith was in the kitchen dishing up some stew, "Be careful...the Millers...will they come back?"

"I reckon not. I reckon they've had their fill." chuckled Bud.

North looked from Bud to Faith with sharp, serious eyes.

The old man left and Faith came to the table with a bowl and some sliced bread.

"You should lie down." She said, her stirring allowing the steaming heat escape the stew.

North glanced at the door frowning, "So he had been coming 'round?"

There was another flinch to his face but it came from a different pain and Faith shrunk at what she knew she would have to say.

Nodding she spooned up some stew and offered it to him but he just looked at her expectantly.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked gently with no intention of eating.

"Because I was afraid." She responded putting the spoon back into the bowl.

He tightened his jaw muscles, almost looking ashamed, "I was hard on you 'bout the gun. Had no right to be. Don't ever want you afraid of me."

Blinking she gathered her eyebrows and breathed deeply, "I left North. I couldn't take letting you down again and again so I left."

Confusion clouded his face as he let her words melt into the quiet room only disturbed by the crackling of the fire.

Faith put her hand to her forehead wretchedly, "That's where I met Mr. Shaw, at Rustler Springs. He didn't tell me his name. But it was a mistake. I knew I had to come back and I couldn't have you knowing how weak I am."

North looked pale and dismay dimmed his eyes, "You left…"

"I thought," the ball in her throat caught the words haggardly, "you'd do better with someone else. Someone who didn't cause you so much trouble. I do nothing but fail you."

The tears had come and trickled down her cheeks freely now and North slumped in his chair, obvious grief from her confession eating at him.

She caved forward, sobs shaking her body, her face in her hands. "I don't belong here."

North pressed his eyes closed, a torrent of emotions and reactions fighting for his heed.

Finally he leaned towards her, his left hand slipping along the side of her face and she let her hands fall at his touch. With puffy red eyes she looked up at him miserably and he took her arm, pulling at her carefully. Hesitantly she stood and let him guide her to his lap where she sat gingerly. He looped his hurt arm around her waist and she fell into him. Her face in his neck.

"You belong Faith. I ain't much for words like Walt Scott, but you never failed me. I know I got me some learning to do too. Will you stay?" he tried to keep his voice calm, stroking her hair softly. How could he have let her come to this?

She gripped his shirt and sniffed, "You still want me to?"

"I do."

"But there could be someone…"

"Don't want no one else Faith." he ignored the burning in his shoulder and held her tighter, all he wanted to do was to hold her tighter.

Her slight arms embraced him and she cried harder.

There was a movement at the window but then nothing. North and Faith just sat there for some time until she finally sat up looking at him searchingly. Then the dawn of a smile pushed at her cheeks.

"Your stew's cold, I'll warm it." she went to get up but he pulled her into a soft kiss.

"I love you." He whispered against her lips.

Enlivened by this she let out a laugh and hugged his neck tightly. "I love you North!"

He smiled at her afterwards reassuringly and she took up the bowl and went back into the kitchen.

Conveniently that was when Shaw returned, "Gave them broncs some fresh water and feed. I'll be going 'soon as mine's satisfied."

Faith dabbed at her face with a towel, trying to diminish the redness in her skin from crying. But she called to the old man, "Oh Mr. Shaw! You must stay for some supper please?"

The slender old man pulled Faith's chair around the side of the table and plopped down into it, taking his gloves off, "Thank you ma'am but, I think it's best I move on."

"Where to?" North asked abruptly.

Bud paused as if the answer was not at the ready, "Don't rightly know. Just the next water'n hole down the trail I reckon."

"How are you with cows sir?" North continued his questions.

Squinting, Shaw's crows feet deepened, "I rode the chuck line few times. Can't say I was a top hand but I got the job done."

Faith watched from the kitchen, taken back at her husband's obvious direction of conversation.

"Well sir, I've got quite a few new calves and a bunch on the way, my herd's gett'n mighty swollen for one man…." He looked up at Faith, "...two folks to handle. If'n you're ever think'n of sett'n down roots you'd have a place here. There's a good little cabin up in the next valley over in a pretty little grove of aspen what needs a new owner."

Bud made as if to shake his head but the refusal caught when he turned to look at Faith's widened, hopeful eyes.

"You haven't shown me how to make soap you know…" She murmured bringing over two bowls of stew.

The old man's mustache lifted a bit, hiding a nervous smile. "Well I'll be. Never thought I'd have any such opp'rtunity an old hill goat like me."

North stood up straight, "Thirty a month, and all the fresh bread Faith'll make." He smiled at her and she leaned into him, putting her arms around his waist.

The man seemed to struggle a little whatever he was resolving in his mind but then he stood up, "I reckon you have yourself a hand Mr. Cassidy."

The two men shook hands, North grimacing fleetingly but gripped Bud's hand firmly with his right.

They ate and spoke of the herd and of poetry then as the night deepened, North took Bud out to the barn where the man would be sleeping.

"I'll take you to John's cabin in the morning." North said as he pulled down some horse blankets.

"You'd better take it easy with that arm Mr. Cassidy." Bud said as he took a seat on a grain box.

North looked tired and drained, he glanced at the house, "You can call me Cas sir if you want. Most folks do."

"That I will. You can call me Bud." Bud bent to take his boots off stiffly but followed North's eyes to the house, "Everybody who meets her fall in love with her?"*

North turned his head directly back to Bud, his russet color eyes careful, "I reckon I did."

Chuckling at the man's obvious protectiveness Bud rubbed his toes out, "You two young 'uns got something. Something worth fight'n for. We both knowed you could have fended off them sorry sons 'o cusses even with yer wing clipped. I appreciate you lett'n an old man show a bit o' heroism in front of a lady like yours."

North tightened his mouth into a frown. "Well, you done us a favor Bud. Faith sets store by you."

Touching at the corner of his mustache Bud's cool eyes twinkled, "I've seen womenfolk all over this country, and I mean from the length of the trail from east to west 'n north to south. That little girl of yours is one of the strongest, sure-spirited women I've been obliged to meet. Got steel in her heart and that heart is all for you son. I reckon the only person in this world that could break that heart is you."

North's arm rested in the strap of his suspenders and he adjusted it now, "She and I, we both made our mistakes."

"Tell her you love her all the time. Womenfolk, no matter where they're from, it's something they live for. Them words." Grunted Bud as he got to his feet and picked his way over to the hay stall.

Giving him a solemn nod, North turned and went back in the house.

It took a week before North left the house to work the herd with Shaw. His shoulder far from healed but he rode along and did what he could.

One night after dinner a couple weeks later, North and Faith were to ride into Box Junction the next morning. North had taken out the papers for the land deed and sat them on the table along with Faith's shirts.

Faith was clearing the dishes when she glanced over the papers. With some curiosity she sat the plates down and brought the lamp closer. North was in the bedroom when he heard her footsteps and turned to see her walking in, her face troubled as she held the papers in her hands.

"Wus'wrong?" He asked slowly when he saw her in the mirror as he washed his face.

"Did Judge Graham make this up for you?" She looked back down at the deed.

A little relieved that it wasn't serious North grabbed the towel to dry.

"Yeah. Well, when you come out I wanted to put you on the land too. With everything that's been go'n on I didn't sign it yet so I will when we get back down to town." He explained turning to her.

She was looking at the papers again, her eyes darting back and forth as she read.

"Don't sign this."

There was a firmness in her voice and he was worried again.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. All original characters and plot are the property of the author. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **Alright! I told you it was done! This wraps it up. Thanks for anyone who makes it to the end. Hope it was a good read.**

* * *

As Faith explained it to him, despite the dizzying, tangled web of jurisprudence, he understood that he was basically signing away any useful rights to the land such as grazing or timber. Should something happen to him, the land would fall to Cecil Graham as a partner and Faith as his ward. She would have no say over use or sale.

North had spoken to Cecil about giving him such authority but the way he had put it it hadn't seemed so concerning. He knew Cecil would need control to keep Faith from being intimidated and for him to make important decisions.

But Faith hesitated about giving the man such power. A confusing stipulation also refused any interference by North's brothers. Faith had seen many such papers her father had worked with in his career and he had explained their importance and consequential results. It was too immediate power shifting to Judge Graham and she felt uneasy about it.

North had known Cecil since he had moved to the uplands above Box Junction almost four years ago. Graham had arrived shortly after North had taken up living in the mountain above. They had become quick friends. To doubt him, suspect him of some sort of deception made North feel foolish. But his confidence in his wife, in her understanding of language, especially legal, had him willing to take the papers back to Cecil to clarify and if needed, redraw them.

Fall was late and the cool breeze of the canyon kept the dogged heat at bay in Box Junction.

Leaving Bud to look after the herd, North and Faith rode down into the foothills.

North rolled his shoulder as they came in sight of the quiet town. It was healing quickly but still stiff and somewhat sore. It was just before noon they walked their horses to the hitching post in front of Fry's store.

Glancing across the street, North noticed seven horses hitched along the street. Not often was there such a gathering at this time in the day. It was morning and it struck him as peculiar making him uneasy. One of the Miller's hands came out from the Loop, not looking over at them but took to his mount and rode out casually. North would expect he would see Rett in the next hour or so.

While helping Faith down, Joseph came out from his store. Nervous concern in his eyes.

"Good morning...Cas...I got something to tell you…" The man started when there was another call from down the street.

Judge Graham was strolling up towards them, his usual pleasantness glowing in his broad smile. He looked sidelong at Fry, "Folks, Joseph, how are you this fine morning?"

Hurriedly the storekeeper wrung his hands, glancing over his shoulder at the store behind him. "Fine Cecil...I...I think I'll be needing to get back to the shop…"

North and Faith both watched him go, feeling unsettled at the man's strange behavior.

With a grave frown, Cecil also followed the man with interest until he disappeared into the shop. "You know, Joseph has been acting funny since he went Henryville over a week ago."

Faith clutched at the folds of her skirt of her nice blue dress nervously, she was beginning to feel like she might be wrong about the judge. He had never acted 'crooked as a dog's back leg', as Bud put it. Always he acted a gentleman.

"I'll talk to 'im. See if someth'ns bothering 'im." North said mildly.

"Don't bother, I'll speak with him later." The words Cecil said seemed easy enough, but his tone was suspicious. Then he turned back to North, "Cas, I was wondering if I could talk to you about those papers. I think I may have some changes to make that would work out better in the end."

North reached in his coat and pulled out the fold, "That's what we come to talk to you about too. Faith, she read 'em and I won't sign how they's written."

A fleeting hardness crossed the man's face then it relaxed into an agreeable smile which he directed at her, "Of course. We're probably thinking of the same thing. I'll have you come with me Cas and we'll discuss it. If the little lady wanted to do some shopping, we can go over it then take lunch at my place. I got some chocolates just for you from Saint Louis Faith."

Clearing his throat, North said, "She's comin' too. To help me with the read'n."

The judge's smile remained but behind it there was a irritation, and a distress. Finally he nodded and they walked down with him to his office.

As they entered, Cecil went over to the stove and poured some cups of coffee, "I heard about the Millers up at your place make'n trouble. Said there was some outlaw there, Bud Shaw run 'em off. I told 'em, if you decide to press charges they're going to have themselves a heap of trouble. I was worried when I heard they'd shot at ya."

"How come you didn't come up?" Asked North as the cup was handed to him.

Raising an eyebrow the man paused, "I was still back east, didn't get back until last Thursday."

Faith took her cup as well, looking at her ghostly reflection in it's brown surface.

There was quiet for a time and Cecil finally gave a nervous laugh, "What's the matter with you two?"

North sat his coffee on the desk and unfolded the papers, "We don't want you in charge of the land no more…" he said awkwardly.

"The the extended power of attorney this gives you Judge Graham, I just think it is unnecessary as much as we appreciate your willingness to do so." Faiths confident voice brought both men's attention to her and she sat tall in her seat.

Again, Cecil shifted from an flustered state to a fatherly reassuring smile, "Now now Faith. I know you have read a lot of literature, but this is different than your poems or essays of fiction. Don't you worry, I'll take good care of this. Besides, it's only in case...in case something happens to Northrop and we all know nothing will."

"All the same Judge Graham, if there are to be such trustees, we'd like for it to be North's brothers if it's no bother to you." Faith replied politely.

The man's eyes never left her but he spoke to North, "Cas, help me reassure your wife here that there's nothing to be worried over. With your brother's so far away it's much more convenient to have someone closer and more easily accessible."

"I'm of her mind Cecil. It ain't no matter like you said, Nothin's gonna happen to me." North mediated calmingly.

With a short snort, Cecil hung his head, "Now I know Faith, your daddy was a big attorney there in Philadelphia. You probably picked up a few things too as bright as you are. But I know he had some dealings that we could say were of a shady nature. Perhaps it isn't I that should be suspect to suspicion here."

The silence that followed was tense and thick. Then North stood up slowly.

"Cecil, we been friends for a while now. I ain't one to get hot over a misunderstad'n, but you can't be accusing Faith of somethin'..."

She sat quietly, her hands clasped around the undrunk coffee in her lap and her eyes cast down at the ground.

Cecil started in gently again, "Have you told him Faith? Did you tell him why they sent you away?"

She kept her head down as one condemned and North now shifted his attention to her in confusion, "What's he talk'n about?"

"Cas, while I was back east, I looked into some things. I thought the name Whitfield sounded familiar. William Whitfield swindled three big landowners out of their rights over as many years. Seems you had a hand in it too didn't you Faith?" Asked the judge quietly.

She barely moved only her labored breathing sounded in the room.

Unbelievingly, North almost took a step backward to steady himself. Why wasn't she denying it? It couldn't be true. She was so young and innocent.

"Faith…?" He stammered.

Looking up to him her eyes had reddened, "There was never any charges brought. He was sick and knew he was dying. He was trying to secure his family. He didn't know what he was doing. But I couriered the papers for him. I shouldn't have."

"So after he passed, you admitted to it and because of your age, they were merciful and agreed to have you sent away on condition that you were settled. Which they kept from you North." Added Cecil regrettably.

Everything North thought he had been sure about had suddenly been turned upside down. He had just become sure that he could trust her above anyone else. Now, she had a shameful history and possibly could even be trying to take what he had?

Faith was watching him with augmented eyes. Her chin trembled as she waited.

"I knew, they told me about your pa having some accusations. That you wanted to leave it all behind and come out here. Faith…" His shock and hurt turning quickly into a brewing feeling of betrayal.

"North. I...I never lied to you. Please believe me that I just wanted to protect my father. Let me talk to you alone..." She glanced at Cecil who looked at her in pity.

"Let's get those papers taken care of Northrop." The judge said over her. "I made up some new, it leaves everything out of her hands completely where she'll not be able to deal it as she would if you made her an equal on it. That is what I think she had in mind."

He handed North a fountain pen and new papers with X's where he was to sign at the bottom.

"No! North, please…it happened differently. My step-mother told me they had told you. I love you, I would never do such a thing as peculate your land." Faith started to get up, tears in her eyes.

Inside he felt torn apart. Cecil's story explained so much and Faith even admitted to the fraud. Now it was like she was back trailing, trying to save what she could. It almost made him dizzy trying to work it out in his head.

One last time he looked at his wife, remembering everything they had been through in the few months they had been together, deciding if it was enough.

Walking over to the desk he took the papers up, the crowd of never ending letters, words and sentences overwhelming as he glanced over it. In his other hand was the previous redraft. He looked from one to the other then turned to the stove, throwing both into it.

"Cassidy! What are you doing?!" Yelled Graham.

"I don't understand everything that's happened Cecil. But I trust Faith. I ain't signing anything without her say so." He looked back to her as she stared at him in astonishment.

North couldn't explain it. But he suddenly knew that she would not betray him.

A voice spoke from the door and they turned to see Rett Miller standing in the entrance..

"That's right Cas. You seen coyote tracks around here and they belong to no one else but Cecil Graham." The big man said, leaning against the frame.

Cecil growled lowly, "Shut up Miller. You're going to go to prison for dry-gultching a man."

With a guilty nod, Miller pushed his hat back on his head, "Yeah I'm sorry 'bout that Cas. I's upset about Blythe, but it wasn't your fault you didn't even know who was a shoot'n atcha. Blaz'n good shot it had to 'ave been. He came home with one right through the ribs before he died."

The strange conversation had both North and Faith looked back and forth between Rett and the judge, who was fuming.

"You don't leave right now, I'll arrest you and see you hung Everett…" The threat was not empty as it seeped from the judge's lips.

Miller grinned, "I guess I never knew how to keep outta trouble. You wanna pull your gun judge you go ahead. I ain't listening to you no more. Cas, Graham here paid us to come up and harass ya. Try'n to get you off'n that land. Paid us good. I didn't know where he got all that gold from until today. He's got a gang of devils that go around robb'n banks, mine'n opperations and such. He sits back and plans 'em while they do the dirty work. He's been eye'n your spread for a hide-out for fresh horses and a cash'n..."

The shot rang out and something hit the coffee pot, knocking it off the stove against the wall. Rett looked down at his shirt where a small hole had suddenly appeared at his side. A spot of red started and began to spread and he put his hand up to it in disbelief then staggered and fell into the room.

The doorway opened up and in the street stood a tall, rough looking man in a sombrero and a brambled beard. His clothes were dusty and travel worn and he kept his gun up. Quickly they all threw themselves to the ground. Faith was next to North who pulled her over towards the desk where there was more cover.

"Cassidy! Come out here 'n face the day!" The man shouted with a gritty voice.

North had never seen the man before and couldn't imagine what quarrel he could possibly have with him. What he did know was that, yet again, the focus of who had the questionable motives had shifted. Miller had pointed the finger at Cecil again, but how could he trust a Miller, especially Rett? All this burst through his mind in a second.

Rett groaned on the ground and North tried to reach for him to pull him out of the line of fire but another bullet whined by and he pulled his hand back as Faith yelped.

"Who is that!?" Hissed Cecil.

Thinking as quickly as he could, North untied his gun and called back.

"I don't know who you are but you shot a man down without giving him a fair shake! If I come out there I'll give you a chance, but I'm warn'n you, you'll not walk out of here on your own feet!"

Faith leaned over to him, "Don't go out there North...please!"

Cecil was on his stomach, the spilt coffee from the toppled pot puddling around him.

"She's right Cas! I recognise him now! He's Ben Toffer! If he's here so's his crowd."

That had to be who all those horses belonged to at the saloon. With his heart pounding, North worried they'd start shooting at the office. He had to move away to keep Faith safe.

North knew he wasn't particularly fast with a pistol, he had always prefered a rifle. Checking the chambers he looked to Cecil, "You with me Cecil?"

The man nodded, a confidence in his eyes and he pulled his own pistol out, "Right behind ya boy."

"Get out here Cassidy! I'm gonna give you your chance! For what good it'll do ya!" Yelled Toffer.

Faith clung to his arm, silently pleading eyes reflecting the fear that had her huddled behind him.

"I'll be back I promise." He kissed her forehead then gently took her hands from his arm.

Standing up he went for the door, he heard moving Cecil behind him.

"Who are you? What am I to you?" North said as he walked off the boardwalk and away from the jail house.

The man stood casually but in a good position to reach for his gun at his hip. "You don't remember me huh Cassidy?"

Turning his head slightly he pointed to his left ear that looked as though it was missing a good part of it's top. "Fought ya back at Cobb. You gave me this notch to remember ya by. Heard you was holed up out here, didn't surprise me none. You hid when we was takin' care of them heathens too."

It felt like the blood in his veins had turned to ice with anger. "I remember every one of those people that were killed, but I still don't remember you. " He said lowly.

Toffer flushed as red as his hair and went for his gun. It slid out and fired before North had even cleared his holster and he felt a tug at his sleeve but he ignored it and brought his pistol up and took a breath. He fired. Then Toffer spun sideways, his hand dropping his gun and going to the side of his head. Crying out he stumbled and fell to his knees. The shot had taken the rest of his ear off.

North cocked the gun again and held it level. He noticed the blood staining his own sleeve from where Ben Toffer's bullet had grazed his arm.

"I'm handin' you over to the judge here. You come lookin' for me again, I'll won't bother with your other ear." He promised, his chest pitched and sank as his breaths came deeply.

Suddenly five other men came out from the saloon, all with their guns up and pointing at North. Still in pain, Toffer managed a harsh laugh, "You ain't gett'n outta here Cassidy. You're too slow and there's too many of us."

Even with Cecil there, it didn't look good. North suddenly knew this was it.

"Not enough." Came another voice, but it wasn't Cecil's.

Down the street, coming out of Fry's store stepped six other men. North blinked.

"I'll tell ya mister, most of us are faster than North, and we don't cotton to prairie wolves like you husslin' our little brother." Said one of them, dressed in a nice, tailored suit.

All of the Cassidy's held their guns on the other group of men.

"Count us in too." Said Kerr with Baby Gus sitting their horses as they walked up the street. They held their rifles on the Toffer gang.

Toffer had swung his head towards them and hesitated. His hand still to his ear, blood running between his fingers he finally said, "Alright! We give in!"

North stood almost overwhelmed by the presence of his brothers. Why had they come...all come?

"Strip your belts and guns." Ordered Daniel.

The men began to do so when there was a loud clanking sound from the office that made North spin.

Behind him he saw Cecil stagger, a pistol in his hand, and fall forward onto his hands and knees. Moving in from the side, a pale faced Faith came up. Gingerly she raised the dented coffee pot and struck the man in the back of the head again and he fell to the floor.

Then she looked from the judge up to North, "He...he was going to shoot you…!"

The pot fell from her hands and she shook. North ran over to her.

Cecil lay out cold with Rett's gun next to his hand.

"She's right." Rett managed weakly. "He's gonna make it look like I done it. Your little miss is quite somethin' with shotguns and coffee pots isn't she?"

Unable to help himself, North gathered her up and started to laugh, "I reckon she is."

Hugging him back, Fath started to laugh through nervous tears.

Soon they'd managed to put all the men in the small cell of the jail house including Cecil who sat with his smarting head in his hands.

Rett had lost a lot of blood but Joseph was seeing to him.

The Cassidys' had a warm reunion. Daniel explained that Fry had contacted him after he'd gone to Henryville and seen the marshals. They had described a man matching Cecil Graham's description at a robbery back in Virginia City. He hadn't been sure but the marshals were supposed to come out and investigate. The Cassidy brothers had come just less than an hour before North and Faith had arrived. Soon the marshals arrived to take the men back to Virginia City.

The little cabin was quite full that night with all the brothers, Faith and Shaw (who couldn't have been more upset he'd missed the excitement). They sat late into the night talking about memories and their lives now.

Faith watched North as he interacted with them. Still quiet, he seemed so at ease and unworried. More so than she had ever seen him.

Wrapping the shawl around her shoulders she went out to the porch for air.

The stars were so sharp and close up here. It made her want to try to reach out and touch them, almost believing she could.

"Faith?" She turned to see Cleveland coming out of the door and he walked over to her when he saw her.

They stood in the light emitting from the window and Cleveland glanced up at the sky too.

"Stars keep away from the city don't they?" He said with a smile.

She smiled back, "I didn't know there were so many. North, he sure misses you."

Cleveland glanced back at the curtained window. "Well, I'll tell you something. I've never seen him so happy. The way he looks at you, you'd think he'd caught himself his own star."

Blushing she looked away, but her face fell as she thought of how he looked earlier that day. When Cecil had told him about her and her father.

"I think I may disappoint him. There were things about me they didn't tell him when I came out here." She began.

That's when North came out the door looking around.

"Cleve, Faith? Everything alright?" He asked, his arm wrapped in a bandage.

"Come here North." Cleveland put his hands in the pockets of his jacket, "There's another reason we come out here too."

North came up slowly, seeing Faith's somber face he put his arm around her shoulder questioningly.

His brother sighed, "Faith, we knew something of what was going on and I told North about your Pa. The woman who told us about you was a friend of your mother's and she had her suspicions of all that was going on. They finally figured it out. You can tell the truth now, nobody's going to get hurt."

Faith looked up at him shocked, "You...you know?"

"Yeah. You're step-mother's father was your pa's partner and he drew up them papers to make it look like your father had done it. Then he threatened you into confess'n to them things you didn't do. Your step-mother sent you away to protect ya cause she didn't agree with her pa. It's alright, he's been arrested now. You don't have to worry for your step-mother or your pa's reputation." Cleveland said gently.

In relief she slumped into North. Would she always cry this much?

"You could have told me that." Her husband said, petting her hair and hugging her.

"I should have. I'm sorry." She sniffled into his chest. "My step-mother told me not to…if he found out..."

"Don't have to worry about that anymore." Smiled Cleveland as he started towards the door.

"Cleve," Called North, "Thanks for the letter, for everything."

His older brother paused before he went in the door and nodded then left them alone.

Gazing up at him Faith asked, "What else did they tell you about me in the letter?"

With a boyish grin he shrugged, "Not enough. Not how pretty you was or what a top hand you are with cattle. Don't think I could have found any such woman out here if I looked a hundred years. You gonna come out to show 'em how a city girl rides tomorrow Mrs. Cassidy?"

She smiled wryly at him, "I might have to to make up for my coffee and beans. Oh! I think they're burning!"

He held her there as she tried to pull away, "Let 'em. You're gonna be stuck out here with me for the next half hour I think."


End file.
